Helicopters
by Oldach's Dream
Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt buckle. It was automatic. It wasn’t supposed to save his life. It wasn’t supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death. Prepilot. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating:  T or PG 13

Chapter One: My Life Changed in a Day

"Look, my shoulder's fine. It's barely bruised." A bit of an understatement, but this doctor was really starting to piss him off. "How's Alex?"

"Mr. Winchester, your shoulder was dislocated not 20 minutes ago. Resetting it doesn't make the swelling go..." The graying, going on 50, doctor didn't have a chance to finish vocalizing his concerns.

"I don't care, alright!" The way he yelled it made him sound much more like a whiney eight year old then he'd of liked. Taking a deep breath he tried to compose himself, if only a little. "Look, my shoulder is fine. Even if it's not, you can look at it later. I'd really like to know how my friend is doing."

"Mr. Winchester, I'm really not allowed to give out that information to anyone who's not immediate family..." The good doctor was cut off yet again.

"My name is Sam." he tried to be polite, he really did. But he had inherited his father's patience level and his brother's anger when it came to not being able to help people that he cared about.

"And Alex doesn't have any family. Not really. Great cousins or something, in California, maybe Florida, one of those perpetually warm states. But I don't even know if he knows their number, and they wouldn't come up here, not right away. He lives on his own, I mean, he has roommates, but none of them are actually family. Not blood related. And, I mean, he's eighteen. Does that 'no giving out information' rule even still count when someone's eighteen? I'm his friend and I was in the car with him..."

Sam trailed off at this point only because he could think of nothing else to ramble about. It was something he did sometimes when he was upset or nervous or scared; he babbled on endlessly.

He had been speaking so fast, he wouldn't be surprised if the doctor didn't understand half of what he had said. When he got this anxious, he had been told, mostly by his older brother, that his speech was next to incomprehensible.

The doctor looked at him sadly and Sam could see in his eyes that even if he hadn't made out everything the youngest Winchester had just spewed out, he had gotten the gist.

"It doesn't look good." The abruptness and bluntness of the words startled him at first, but Sam quickly shook it off, listening intently. "Your friend suffered major internal damage tonight. Three of his ribs were broken and one severely punctured a lung, causing it to collapse, making it impossible for him to breathe on his own. They're prepping him for exploratory surgery, it's our only option, but it'll be a risk with his other injuries. We also found more minor injuries around his spleen and kidney."

A moment passed where Sam was sure he could hear the silence rush through his ears. This wasn't happening. "I don't understand." he finally managed, his voice sounded like he hadn't used it in several days. "How can it be that bad? God... I didn't get hurt... I ..."

"You weren't driving." The doctor said it so simply that for a moment Sam's anger was all consuming. He fought it down though, like every other emotion, he made it go away so he could focus.

The doctor continued. "The drunk driver that hit your car tonight, it hit the driver's side..."

"I know, I was there, remember?" Sam snapped. Maybe he couldn't keep _all_ his anger at bay.

The other man massaged his temples with his fingers. For a moment making him seem much older and less professional then he actually was. Guilt replaced anger in a heartbeat, only to be driven out just as quickly by worry and anxiousness once again.

"Because of that," he continued, ignoring Sam's comment. "He received the blunt of the impact, and because of the angle the other car hit at, and the pole your car proceeded to crash into when Alexander lost control, it caused his entire body to hit the steering wheel. With the force of the cars and the fact that he wasn't wearing his seat belt. Well... It's amazing he's still alive at all."

"I was wearing my seat belt." Sam said stupidly.

"And it's the reason why your only injury was a severely dislocated shoulder and a few cuts and bruises." He said this almost sympathetically. As if Sam was supposed to feel bad for having the foresight to put on his seat belt.

Sam didn't think about it as something he did to protect himself, he didn't think about it at all. When you practically lived on the road with your dad and brother your entire life, you get used to wearing a seat belt. It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death. It was just a stupid seat belt...

As Sam was struggling to find words, any thing at all to say, to get reassurance, the doctor's pager started to go off. His old hand went immediately to his pocket where he kept it.

Looking at that pager was as much of a natural reaction for a doctor as buckling up was for a Winchester. Sam thought absently.

"This is your friend. I have to go." And just like that the man was half a hall away from him, heading briskly for the swinging doors of the OR.

"Is everything alright?" But Sam was speaking to himself. The doctor was gone, off to perform a miracle. Sam could only hope.

Not knowing what else to do, he backed himself into a chair in the hospital's waiting room.

What happened now?

Did they expect him to just sit there and wait? Do nothing? While the best friend he could possibly ever have, was dying?

Best friend. It wasn't a term he thought he'd ever get to use. Up until 6 months ago Sam didn't have a clue as to what it felt like to have anything more then a convenient friend. Someone his own age to hang out with, so he didn't get bored. Someone he wouldn't miss when they had to move a month or so later.

He and Dean were closer then most brothers ever got to be. It was a bittersweet relationship in that sense. One that Sam wouldn't give up for the world. They depended on each other, needed each other in a way that was conducive to growing up the way they had. As hunters. Warriors.

So, the way he had always figured it, he never needed a best friend. He had his brother. An older brother who had saved his life more times then he cared to count. A brother who never held it against him, had never lied to him, never stopped looking out for him. With a brother like that, who needed a best friend?

But both Winchester boys had their differences. Sam knew that Dean sometimes tired of his constant role as Sammy's protector. It was no secret to Dean, or their father, that Sam often longed for a normal life. And while they never outright fought about it, Sam knew Dean disapproved of the way he didn't listen to their father, and constantly argued with him.

So when they had moved to Columbus, Ohio a little over 6 months ago, and Sam had met Alex Brecken, he had been hesitant, yet eager to get to know the young man. As it turned out, they had a few things in common. Alex's parents had both died when he was a toddler. He remembered as much about them as Dean remembered about their mother, Mary.

Alex once told him he wished he didn't remember them at all, that he thought if he couldn't remember them than he couldn't miss him. Sam told him quite the opposite was actually true. Not knowing didn't mean not hurting. They'd been best friends since then.

His mind drifted for some time after that. Randomly shuffling through old memories. Ones of him and Dean, him and Alex, his dad. Fake memories he made up as a child about his mom, based on stories Dean used to tell him, ones not about her murder.

His mind flashed through the different friends he'd made over the years. People from jobs who had thanked them, learned from them, ran away scared of them. Died because of them. Sam had seen death before; he saw what it was like for the loved ones left behind. But it had never been personal, making this, in a way, unreal for him.

He continued to zone, watching, but not really seeing, other patients coming and going. Some were crying, some had flowers; others were pushing freshly healed loved ones in wheelchairs away from this place. You only left the hospital two ways, and out the front door was the best way to go.

Sam felt an odd sense of detachment, and not just from his surroundings. His shoulder didn't hurt. Not even a little; he couldn't feel it at all. Which was scary, because if anything hurt worse then dislocating your shoulder, it was popping it back into place.

He knew this because Dean had once done exactly that, and when their dad had re-located it, Dean had yelled out in pain. Not many things made his brother scream like that, and Dean was good with pain. So Sam had expected the worst when they did the same to him in the ambulance. He had, however, merely flinched, and that was more at the expectation of pain.

The doctors in the ambulance didn't have time to comment or notice the oddity if it though. They had told him to keep it still and then went back to trying to keep Alex stable until they reached the hospital. Alex was more important.

And again Sam was lost in his own head. Time passed, but Sam paid it no mind, which might of been why he was so startled when he heard the high spirited voice start to speak to him

"Are you Samuel Winchester?" The bright, female voice pulled him harshly from his thoughts. His whole body jerked, and he thought absently that if dad was here, he'd yell at him for being caught off guard.

"Yeah." he answered the nurse. Noticing only vaguely what she looked like. Skinny, long brown hair. He focused his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder and wished to whatever higher power might be listening that her voice wasn't so damn cheerful.

"Doctor Kurt told me to come out here and take a look at your shoulder. I would of been here sooner, but it's been such a busy night." She shook her head in a loving way. "So if you could, please follow me over here to an exam room."

She started walking away without actually waiting for an answer.

Sam considered not following. Telling the pretty, flowery, obviously naive nurse to go screw herself and that his best friend was dying and he didn't give two shits about the state of his minor shoulder injury.

Even as the thoughts weaved through his head, however, he was already on his feet. Following on autopilot. Dean was the one who said stuff like that. Dean was the one constantly saying 'screw you!' to authority. Their father, of course, being the obvious exception.

Sam was the one that followed the rules, did his homework, got straight A's, and called for Dean when he needed a bully beat up. Saying 'screw you!' to only their father. Resenting him, the way Dean resented authority. It was amazing that they could be so alike, while at the same time, be such polar opposites.

Alex was easier to get along with than Dean. But in the end, Dean meant more. He felt like he was betraying Alex just thinking that. Yet he'd felt guilty far the last 6 months. Having a best friend, he felt like he was turning his back on his brother. Dean never had a friend like Alex when they were growing up. _He _didn't need a best friend.

"You look like you're a million miles away, whattcha thinking about?" The nurse asked, motioning for him to take a seat on the exam table.

'My dying friend. You know, the one 50 feet down the hall that I can't do a damn thing for.' But he held his tong this time, choosing instead to simply shrug.

"Well don't be worried about the shoulder, I'm sure it's fine." She said it as if knowing his shoulder would get all better was going to come as some great big comfort to Sam. 'Yeah I know it's fine. I don't think I'd care all that much if it wasn't.'

"_You weren't driving."_

Doctor Kurt's earlier words assaulted him and he felt suddenly nauseous. 'What if I had been?'

Sam knew from years of experience hunting, that 'What if...' questions were pointless. They never changed anything, they couldn't bring an innocent back to life or kill a monster quicker. They wouldn't bring his mother back or allow him the pleasure of a normal life. Knowledge like that, though, never stopped anyone from wondering.

"It looks like you might have torn a ligament." The nurse was saying.

She'd been examining his shoulder for the past couple of minutes guiding it with her hands, rotating it in every direction, gauging his reaction and feeling for the pull of his muscles. Yammering pointlessly as she did so. Sam had absorbed none of what she'd been saying, but the sound of her voice could not be ignored.

"What's your name?" Sam suddenly, needed desperately to put a name to that incessant voice.

She paused and gave him an odd look, obviously thrown off by the suddenness of his question.

"Candy." she answered anyway.

Sam snorted, not even bothering to try to hide it. That just fit way too well. Candy. If he'd of tried to guess, that's probably what he would of come up with. Candy. He snorted again, outright laughed at it. He'd never met a girl named Candy. Something Dean had told him a long time ago now made sense.

'Never _date food names.' he'd told him. 'No Cookies, Brownies, Candy's. In fact stay away from _cute _'ies' all together, anything that makes them sound like they're in a soap opera. No Mandy's, Shirley's, Cindy's. Defiantly stay away from Bunnie's.' The list continued on for some time and when Sam had asked his brother why, Dean had said simply; "They'll drive you absolutely nuts.'_

At the time, Sam had thought it a rather mean thing to say, or believe about anyone, just because of a name.

But now he got it.

"_What _is so funny?" Candy asked huffily, hands now placed on her hips, helping her ask the question.

Sam just laughed again. "Dean was right. My god, was Dean right."

Candy's face went from angry to concerned, she obviously thought Sam was suffering from some type of shock related to his injury.

Sam wanted to keep laughing at her; at the way her name reminded him of his older brother. Maybe he was going into some type of shock. He had been through a lot tonight; maybe this was just his mind's way of dealing with it. Or hell, maybe he was just going insane.

He discarded that thought though, when his anger returned, boiling just below the surface once again. Apparently, Candy thought the best way to deal with victims of shock was to talk to them like they were five freaking years old.

Sam could never remember being talked to like a little kid. Not even when he _was_ a little kid. Dean had always talked to him as an equal and their dad had spoken to him as a student soldier.

"I'm gonna go get a sling for your shoulder, okay honey?" she asked slowly in a patronizing voice.

"Get a different nurse while your at it." he mumbled.

Candy turned and left the room. Returning a few minutes later with a doctor in tow.

What, Sam thought sarcastically to himself, I'm gonna get yelled at for being a bad patient now?

"Hello Samuel." This doctor was younger then Dr. Kurt. He looked to be only a few years older than Dean.

"It's Sam." He corrected automatically.

The young, spry looking doctor nodded. Sam found himself thinking that he liked Dr. Kurt better.

"Candy tells me you're having some problems with your shoulder?" Which Sam could tell was code for: 'Why the hell were you being such a little shit?'

"Look, I was in a car accident with a good friend of mine. He's in surgery now. With Dr. Kurt? I don't know how he's doing." Sam's exhaustion was beginning to take a toll on him. His emotions were skyrocketing all over the place and he found himself barely able to think straight.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Car accidents were things that happened to normal people. And, try as he might, Sam Winchester had never been normal. This certainly wasn't what he wanted his introduction to normality to be like. He just wanted his friend to stay alive.

Although, to the young doctor and Nurse Candy, he seemingly spoke magic words, for they backed off immediately. Suffering from a dislocated shoulder wasn't enough to get people in this hospital to back off and stop treating you like a misbehaving toddler. But having a friend next to death around the corner did.

"The Brecken kid is still in surgery." and that's as far as the young Doctor's knowledge on that subject went.

Ten minutes later found him with a sling around his shoulder, cradling his arm and the information that he had indeed torn a ligament. And while it wasn't major (gee, who had known that from the beginning?) he had to keep the sling for two weeks and 'take it easy' for an additional month after that. Sam considered telling the doctor that, in his family, taking it easy, meant killing the evil thing without getting yourself almost killed in the process.

Instead he said simply, "I'm gonna go wait in the lobby."

"Hang on a second Sam." Young Doc stopped him "How old are you?"

Sam considered lying, but decided it was too risky, he didn't remember telling anyone else his age, but he'd been pretty out of it when the ambulance had brought him in, so he couldn't be sure. Plus, they already had his real name, wouldn't it be easy enough for them to find out if he lied?

"Sixteen." The Doctor nodded, as if expecting that.

"We need to get a hold of your parents or a family member before we can let you go." He informed him.

"I'm not going anywhere until my friend is out of surgery." Sam said.

"I know that." he spoke with surprising gentleness. "But I still need to contact somebody, to let them know you're here. Isn't anyone worried about you?"

Sam automatically glanced around for a clock. Finding one on the wall behind him, he was shocked to see that it was nearing midnight. How could that be? He thought. Him and Alex had hung out after school for a few hours, ordered and eaten an extra large pizza. Alex had agreed to give Sam a lift home around... eight? Seven thirty? He had no idea when they actually reached the hospital, but mental math told him he had to of been here for 4 or 5 hours. Oh how time flies...

"My dad and my older brother are... On a road trip." A hunting trip. In Cleveland, nearly two hours away. "They usually call and check in around ten, but if they got... distracted," If they were battling a ghost that didn't want to crossover, "They might of forgotten."

Sam realized that if they had tried to call at the time they normally did, and he hadn't answered, they'd probably be back by now. Dean driving could cut an hour off any trip. "In fact they probably did forget." He said the last bit mostly to himself.

"Where's my cell phone?" Sam asked suddenly. The cell phone his dad gotten him, the one that he was supposed to keep with him at all times, so him and Dean could always call and make sure he was alright. Every member of their little family had a cell phone. For as long as Sam could remember. Always have your phone on you. It was a law within their family. Always be in contact.

"The police found it in the wreckage." Young Doc cringed at the words, knowing he was bringing forth unpleasant memories. "They said it was unsalvageable."

"My dad's gonna kill me." he said before he could stop himself.

He closed his eyes painfully, hearing those words come out of his own mouth. It was an incredibly inappropriate thing to say, and if Sam had been talking to someone else in his situation, he would of apologized immediately. Too bad he couldn't tell himself he was sorry.

When he opened his eyes again again, the doctor was smiling sadly.

"Is there anyway we can contact them?" he asked.

"They both have cell phones." he said simply.

When the doctor asked for his dad's number, as he knew he would, Sam gave him Dean's instead. He didn't really think about it, he just did it.

Every time he would start a new school and the teachers asked him to fill out those 'emergency contact' sheets, he'd always put Dean's number as the primary person to contact. Their father's number went on the 'And if that person cannot be reached?' line. No one ever told him to do it that way, and he'd never told anyone he did it. It was just an instinct. Like wanting to save people or putting on his seat belt.

He was light headed and dizzy by the time he made his way back to the waiting room. He felt like all he would need to feel better would be some fresh air and a bottle of nice cold water. Oh, and his friend not dying, that might help too.

But he wouldn't leave the hospital. He would be here as soon as Dr. Kurt came out of surgery to tell Sam that Alex was going to be fine. As soon as he approached him with that tired yet satisfied look that doctors on TV so often wore.

As soon as he was sure Alex would be fine. That bed rest and a couple stitches was all he needed to be good as new, that's when he would leave the hospital. That's when he'd be able to breathe again.

Forty five minutes later the young Doctor came out and told him that he'd left a message on Dean's voicemail, after attempting to get a hold of him half a dozen times.

He questioned Sam as to why it was _Dean's _and not his father's cell phone that he'd been dialing, but he backed off to a disapproving glare when Sam explained that his older brother was twenty-one years old, and he and dad were together anyway, and Dean was more likely to answer his phone if he didn't recognize the number. Which wasn't at all true, and Dean didn't actually turn twenty-one for another four months. But, oh well.

Two hours after that Sam found himself half asleep when a Nurse, not Candy thankfully, but an older lady, came out to tell him that Dr. Kurt had told her to give him an update.

They were still in surgery, but Alex's prospects didn't look good. She frowned as she told him this, obviously playing the messenger against her will. She looked like the kind of nice old lady who would lie to the tired, skinny, hurt, sixteen year old about his friend's condition to spare him anymore pain. Sam simply nodded until she went away. He didn't have the energy to be sad or angry or even worried anymore.

In his heart, his brain even, he knew the truth. But that wasn't what had defeated him. His mind and heart could be wrong, they had been before. But his gut never was. That feeling, lodged perpetually somewhere in the depths of his stomach.

The one that told him when Dean was nearby or hurt or in danger. The one that told him if someone was trustworthy or if his dad was hurting or angry. He didn't really know what to call it. Gut instinct was the closest he ever came to an accurate description, although it felt more powerful than that. He'd had it for as long as he could remember, and depended on it for the same amount of time.

He had never really explained it to anybody, not even Dean. He'd end up sounding insane. 'I have a feeling.' was what he said when he needed to get Dean to trust him on it. Because if Dean trusted him, then he could convince dad. And Sam was always right.

He knew he'd be right this time too. He knew, because the knot in his stomach wouldn't let up, and he'd only ever felt this way before, after waking up from nightmares about his mom's death. Something he couldn't actually remember, but often imagined, after hearing his father's story so many times.

On nights like that though, he had Dean there to tell him that it was just a nightmare and to go back to sleep because he was disturbing his beauty rest. Sam would tell Dean all the rest in the world wouldn't help him and he'd throw a pillow at him. Dean would throw it back, calling him a bitch. Sam would smirk, say 'Jerk.' and go back to sleep.

But Dean wasn't hear now. His brother, his father and his best friend were all gone right then, leaving no one to stop Sam from focusing on that painful knot in his stomach, no one to bring him back to reality, because he felt as if he was teetering dangerously on the edge of it.

No one was there to tell him everything would be all right.

An hour and a half later, when Dr. Kurt appeared in blood soaked doctor scrubs, when he stood in front of Sam, his whole body slumped with defeat, when he looked at the wise beyond his years, yet still innocent, sixteen year old boy. When all he could do was shake his head sadly and swear that the tears glistening in his eyes were real and not for the patient he had just lost, but for the broken one in front of him; no one was there to pick up the pieces.

Author's Note: Alright, It's up to you guys, if you want more, Review!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt

buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural. Also, the ghost story I created holds no basis in any reality, except my imagination.

Rating: T or PG 13

Chapter Two: I do my best to synthesize the sounds and my emotions

Sam felt as if everything was draining away from him.

It happened in a kind of intensified, slowed down reality way. He was acutely aware of Dr. Kurt standing in front of him, hanging his head mournfully. He knew exactly what the tired doctor was telling him without words.

He knew Alex was dead.

He felt pain. Intense, consuming, burning pain. Yet he could not identify where it was coming from, only that it was choking him.

He noted absently that it felt almost as if it wasn't his. Like he had taken someone else's pain and somehow swallowed it.

Alex was dead.

It was like a poison, slowly spreading through every part of him.

He felt the muscles in his neck creak as he craned his head to look more closely at Dr. Kurt. He could see fear in those watery blue eyes, and he wanted to ask what it was doing there; fear had no place here.

He watched uncomprehendingly as the doctor's mouth opened and shut and opened again. It looked almost like he was trying to speak. Sam wondered why the old man couldn't seem to be able to find any words.

The ringing in his ears became all consuming and soon he could focus on nothing else. Which seemed stupid, in some, still functioning, part of the back of his head, because he could not remember it starting in the first place.

His best friend was dead.

The last thing he registered was Dr. Kurt's arm flailing wildly in the air. Why or to whom he was motioning was completely lost on Sam. Darkness fell over him and he no longer had the will to fight it.

_Alex was dead..._

0000000000000000000000000

"We'll get it tomorrow, dad" An exasperated, exhausted Dean Winchester tossed his now empty gun on one of the two cheap motel beds in the room that they had just paid for.

"That's not good enough!" John Winchester glared at his oldest son as if it were his fault the spirit they'd just been fighting had been exceptionally pissed off and they had run out of ammunition. "We should have gotten it tonight!"

"We didn't have a choice. We would have gotten killed if we'd of stuck around." Dean reminded him. He shrugged off his battered leather coat and threw it next to his gun. Running a hand through his hair, a subconscious admittance of frustration. His muscles ached from where the powerful little bastard had flung him into a wall.

He was too used to his father's attitude on hunting trips to really be put out by it, but he was annoyed that they hadn't been able to get rid of the spirit like they'd planned to.

The fact that the thing had over powered him just took it to a much more personal level of pissed off. Dean tried to stay focused on those emotions, pretending, for the moment, that it was the only thing bothering him.

"I know." The older of the two sighed, sounding defeated. He sat down on the edge of the unoccupied bed. "It shouldn't of been that strong. We've never fought an ordinary ghost that strong before."

Dean could tell, by the hand over his mouth and the deep worry lines on his forehead, that his dad was trying to work out this new puzzle. He was used to how focused and self criticizing the older man could get when he felt as if he'd failed.

"At least the building's rundown and abandoned. The chances of anyone getting hurt there are next to nothing." Dean tried to comfort him.

Truth was, 'rundown and abandoned' was putting it quite nicely. The building this, apparent super, ghost was occupying, was a half collapsed pile of rubble.

It was the site of an old children's daycare facility. He had first come across it in some run of the mill articles out of a Cleveland newspaper; talking about obnoxious kids setting off fire works and breaking windows in the dead of night.

The only reason it had even sounded vaguely like something up their alley was because of all the reports listed, not a single person was arrested for causing the disturbance. Even that hadn't been enough for him or his dad to think something weird was going on.

Dean remembered the conversation he and Sam had had earlier that week.

_"Huh." _

_Dean, who was pouring over all the different articles spread out on the kitchen table, looking for a new gig, barley acknowledged his brother._

_ Sam continued to hover though, grating on Dean's last nerve._

_"Either say something or get out of here Sammy, I'm busy."_

_"It's Sam." he snapped immediately. Then paused, obviously considering something. He picked up a small article that had caught his eye, one Dean had barley glanced at before discarding earlier. "I think you should check this out."_

_"Why?" Dean asked after looking up to see what Sam was referring to. "It's probably just some drunk teenagers messing around."_

_"No drunk teenagers were arrested." he countered._

_"So they know how to run. Or drive drunk." Dean shrugged._

_"It's happened..." Sam shifted through some other papers, picking out all the ones about that building. "Six times in two weeks. Don't you think that's a bit odd?"_

_"Not really." Dean admitted, but was now curious as to why Sam was even making this a conversation. "What aren't you telling me?"_

_"I think I remember reading something about that place." he finally admitted, although he made it sound as if he'd just thought of it. "Peace and Hope Daycare Center, right?"_

_"Yeah, I guess. Why would you be reading about it?" he asked skeptically. _

_Sam sighed. "Okay, I wasn't reading about it, a friend of mine used to live in Cleveland and he was telling me about that place. I recognized the name."_

_"Friend? Your talking about Alex Brecken, right? That blonde kid you've been hanging out with since we moved here?" Dean couldn't hide the distaste in his voice. _

_"So what?" Sam sounded defensive now._

_"So, I don't like you hanging out with him. He's a bad influence." Dean hadn't meant to say the words, but once they were out and he heard how much venom was laced through them, he knew he meant what he was saying._

_"And who are you, dad?" Sam asked ludicrously._

_Dean had to admit that he sounded much more parental than he woud of liked. Still, something in him had sparked and he didn't want to back down. "The guy's years older than you, and he lives by himself. I just don't see why you have to hang out with him so much."_

_"We're friends." Sam said as if he were speaking to an extremely slow person. "And he's only two years older than me. He's two years _younger _than you."_

_ "He doesn't even go to your school, I don't even know how you two met. You're with him too much. It looks bad." Dean argued. _

_He told himself that his sudden passion regarding this issue came from his need to protect Sam. He knew that if he got too attached, he'd just get hurt, not to mention be pissed off, when they had to move. Then he'd end up fighting with dad, and Dean would get stuck in between them. Again. _

_Sam glared angrily. "Who I'm friends with isn't any of your business, Dean. Do you want to know about this place or not?"_

_Sam waved the article around, trying to bring the conversation back to where it had started. Dean didn't take the bait._

_"Why are you getting so defensive Sam?" he was close to taunting now. _

_"I'm not," Sam was trying very hard not to snap, Dean could see that, but it didn't really register. "I'm just telling you..."_

_"Are you screwing him or something?" Dean's words brought Sam to an abrupt halt. Dean's own eyes widened slightly, he had not intended to say that, but he could not bring himself to apologize and his face was still contorted in accusation._

_Sam just looked at him for a second, as if not comprehending the words. Then his eyes turned to slits and his nose crinkled up. He looked so angry that Dean expected to get sucker punched._

_"Man, I don't know _what _your damn problem is." he practically snarled. "But you need to get the hell over it."_

_Sam threw the paper back on the table and promptly stalked out of the room. Breathing so hard that Dean could hear his shallow, barely controlled breaths until he was out of the kitchen. _

_He knew better than to call his brother back, he'd get tackled for sure. For a scrawny sixteen year old, Sam could be pretty damn strong when he was angry._

_Plus Dean was embarrassed. He sunk farther down into the kitchen chair and ran his hand through his hair angrily. Leaning back even more, he used the back of the chair as a head rest, closing his eyes in defeat. _

_He felt as if he were the younger, more immature brother, getting mad for no real reason like that. It wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to, and it made his stomach churn._

_ What _was_ his problem?_

_After a moment he sat up straight again, picking up the article that had unknowingly started the whole thing. He sighed heavily and did the only thing he could think of to do. He began to research Peace and Hope Daycare Center._

He cringed openly now, remembering the things he'd said to Sam. It was the last time the two brothers had spoken to each other since before Dean and John had left for Cleveland.

As it turned out, Sam had been right about the Daycare Center. It had a ghost story attached to it that went something like; when it had been up and running Peace and Hope Daycare center had been the best and most trusted place for single working mothers to drop their kids off all day.

Then, twenty years or so ago, the mayor declared that the city no longer had the funds to keep the nonprofit organization running, and it was to be torn down. Many, many moms had been upset at the news. Protests and petitions to stop it from happening went on for months. The mayor couldn't, or wouldn't as the case more likely was, do anything about it. A construction team was hired to use dynamite to blow the place to bits.

A small group of protesters, however, wouldn't leave the site. Dead set against seeing it destroyed. Even when the guys in the hard hats showed up and placed the explosives at the designated areas throughout the emptied building.

After a few hours, during which the construction crew was loosing money, the police hadn't responded to any of their phone calls, so they'd decided to take measures into their own hands.

'We just wanted to scare them off.' A statement from one of the surviving crew members had claimed.

They guys had gotten fed up and decided to set off one of the explosives that had been placed in the back of the building. It hadn't just scared them off though. It had killed them. The structure of the building hadn't been able to withstand the pressure of the one explosion, so it had fallen in around itself.

All of the protesters and three of the construction crew members, who had run into the collapsing heap of a building to try to get the woman out, had been killed.

The building had stayed half collapsed, the project forgotten, after the tragedy. All the surviving construction workers had been fired and sued by the city. Ensuring that the now motherless children at least had a good chunk of change to grow up on.

The only problem now, seemed to be one of the victims was still not willing to part with her beloved Daycare center.

When Dean told his father about the history of the place, John had been ecstatic. He praised his eldest son for being so thorough in his research. To find such a complex story, based only a few vague police reports, was an outstanding show of dedication.

Dean didn't tell him about Sam's involvement in the research process, fearing that their dad's knowledge of it might make Sam even more angry at him, and knowing what a right he had to anger at the moment, Dean sure as hell didn't want to add to it.

He still couldn't believe the things he had said to his little brother. It was so crude, not to mention the fact that Dean knew that Sam wasn't in the slightest bit gay. He'd been hearing about Sam's crushes since the boy had sprouted hormones.

He'd even sat down and given him 'the talk' a few years back. Because God knows their father wouldn't do it. All he'd ever done for Dean in that area was throw a box of condoms on his bed one day when he was about Sam's age.

_'I don't want to see it. I don't want to hear it. And I don't want to know about it. But be safe.' _

He walked out of his room and they'd never spoken about it again. He remembered how Sam had found that story amazingly entertaining when Dean had relayed it to him.

No matter what he did, or how he pretended, all his thoughts kept going back to his brother. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Dean felt guilty.

"You've been starring at the wall in a daze for the last five minutes." His father's voice startled him. "You need to go take a shower and hit the sack. You're right, there's nothing else we can do tonight."

Dean noted the understanding in his dad's voice and it added a whole new layer to his guilt. John thought his son was upset because of the spirit and their inability to kill it. And while that was true, he had been more focused on Sam and their fight.

"I'll just try to rework one of the banishing spells in here," he said tapping his ever present journal, "to make it more powerful. Just in case."

Dean nodded his consent and quickly headed for the bathroom connected to their room. A nice hot shower sounded irresistible.

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"Good to have you back." Dr. Kurt's voice cut through the thick fog surrounding him and Sam latched onto it desperately.

"What..." he groaned. He was instantly aware of his heavy head and throbbing left arm.

"Take it easy." The old doctor scolded him when Sam tried to sit up.

He was laying on something softer than the floor but too hard to actually be called comfortable.

Hospital bed, He noted absently, feeling groggy and disoriented.

He knew Dr. Kurt's voice. He was the Doctor that had treated his shoulder. He had torn a ligament, which was probably why it now throbbed so much.

He squinted up at the man, but didn't try to get up this time. Dr. Kurt, standing there with that worried look, almost like a concerned grandpa.

Then it came back to him.

"Alex is dead."

It was the first time he'd heard the words spoken out loud, and he found himself having difficulty swallowing.

"Breathe Sam. Do you remember what happened earlier?" Dr. Kurt's hand went automatically to Sam's wrist, checking his pulse.

Like a doctor's hand to a pager or a Winchester's to a belt buckle.

"Alex is dead." Sam didn't know if he was answering the question or just repeating himself.

"Yes he is."

The doctor was acting much more professional than he had been earlier in the evening. He no longer looked exhausted and defeated, tears weren't sparkling in his eyes. Yet there was still a tinge of unmistakable sadness and defeat. Or maybe it was concern. Sam really couldn't tell anymore.

"The last time you realized that, you had a panic attack." he was simply stating a fact. Medical history.

"I...I remember you coming out here. I saw you... And I knew. I knew that Alex..." he trailed off, not really wanting to relive it.

"Then what do you remember?" he coaxed gently.

"I don't know. It was strange, I could see you. But I couldn't hear you. I felt... horrible, but I didn't at the same time, I mean it was there but... I couldn't..." he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Does that make any sense?"

"You were feeling disconnected." The doctor provided the terminology and Sam nodded.

"You were in shock. You still most likely are."

"I don't think so." Sam said. "I can feel my arm pretty well." Realizing it was the first time all night - had it really only been a night? - that he could say that honestly. He wasn't sure yet if he considered it a good thing or not.

"Okay. Sam, I'm going to give you a pain killer. A shot, alright?" Dr. Kurt actually waited for him to nod before he continued doing anything else. "It'll make you a little groggy and you'll probably fall asleep."

Sam nodded again.

The needle was halfway emptied into his arm when he thought of his father and brother. They might of gotten the message that other doctor had left on Dean's phone by now, he didn't know.

He wanted to ask Dr. Kurt if they'd called or what time it was, but by then the syringe was completely emptied, making his way through his blood stream and already he could feel his eyes start to droop.

He'd worry about it later, he decided. And drifted peacefully into a drug induced sleep.

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"Your brother isn't answering the phone." His father confronted him the second he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Cell phone or house phone?" Dean asked immediately. He knew that tone in his father's voice. It sounded angry, but it was actually just his way of covering up deeply concerned.

His father did not get concerned easily. Dean fell into protective older brother mode immediately.

"He's not answering the house phone. When I try his cell it says it's disconnected."

"Did you check your cell for messages?" Dean asked, but didn't wait for his dad to snap at him,

"Of course I did."

He was already across the room, digging through his own bag. He knew the chances of Sam calling him in an emergency, even if they were angry at each other, were much greater than the ones of him calling dad.

He felt his heart jump when he looked at his phone.

'7 Missed Calls. 1 New Voice Mail.'

Dean didn't recognize the number.

He gave a curt nod in his father's direction before flipping the phone open and pressing the appropriate keys, allowing him to hear the message.

The professional voice of some young guy he'd never heard before filtered through his ear.

"My name is Doctor Andrew Grandel. I work at Columbus Central Hospital. We have a Sam Winchester here. He was brought in after a severe car accident earlier this evening. I want to assure you that his injuries are minor, but he can not be discharged until a parent or guardian had signed the necessary paperwork. So we need someone to come in as soon as possible. Thank you."

Dean's hand was shaking as he closed his phone.

_ 'Severe car accident ... injuries are minor ... Hospital'_

"Well!" John was on the verge of frantic.

"Sam was an a car accident." Dean said as steadily as he could manage.

"A car..."

"The guy, the doctor, said his injuries were minor... I..." Dean wanted to ask how you could use the phrase 'severe car accident' and 'minor injuries' in the same sentence.

Apparently dad did as well. He promptly snatched Dean's phone out of his hand to listen to the message himself. The suddenness of the movement jolted him back to reality.

As his dad was listening to the same message that wouldn't stop repeating itself in his own head, he started to pack. Randomly shoving everything he could find into his big duffel bag. He was sure he had gotten everything, and that he had broken some type of packing speed record by the time John was done listening to the message.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean asked angrily. "Pack! We have to get going! It's a two hour trip, and it's already..." he glanced at the clock. "Almost one in the morning! Who knows how long Sammy's been there!"

Dean's voice caught and both men in the room stood, momentarily stunned at Dean's outburst. Never before, in his entire life, had Dean spoken that way to his father. Not even when he was a hormone loaded teenager. Like Sam was now.

The shock however, wore off momentarily and John quickly followed his son's orders. Not that he thought of them of orders. No, this is what he was going to do anyway, Dean had just jolted him into it.

Neither addressed Dean's outburst, and they were out the motel doors mere minutes later.

John didn't even have to consider it; he tossed the car keys to Dean, and he watched, absently proud, as his oldest son brought the car to life and tore out of the parking lot. Whether he was proud of the way Dean was acting in his haste to get to his brother, or the way he could drive, was completely lost on him.

Concern for Sam drowned out everything else.

End Chapter.

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I changed the setting, so now you don't have to be logged on to review, Sorry, I forgot to do it earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating:  T or PG 13

Author's note: I really love all the reviews I've been getting and I'm so glad you guy's like the story. Keep reviewing, it makes me happy! And happy people write chapters faster!

Also, this chapter features a bit of John - daddy bashing. I hadn't intended for it to work out like this when I started it, but it went where it wanted, and this is what ended up happening. I can't say I'm sorry about it.

I think Sam and Dean's relationship as brother's is much more important Then their relationship with their dad.

Chapter Three: This is where the children used to play

"Sam Winchester!" Dean finally shouted, fed up with the unresponsiveness of the secretary on duty. "My brother's name is Samuel. Winchester. How hard can that be to find!"

"Calm down." John tried fruitlessly to soothe his eldest son.

"No!" Dean spat, uncaring as to how immature or obnoxious he sounded. "I want to know where Sam is. The message we got said his injuries were minor. If they're so minor, how come he's not out there in the waiting room? Huh?"

"Sir." The secretary, nurse, whoever she was, said tightly. "Your shouting is not helping things any."

"No!" Dean agreed furiously. "What would help would be you telling me where the hell my brother is!"

Dean and John had arrived at the hospital only about ten or fifteen minutes ago, but it felt much longer to them. Dean's anger was off the charts and John was scarcely holding it together.

This was the kind of thing neither man was used to. Oh, sure, they could hunt and battle evil things for weeks on end. But a car accident?

Something Dean couldn't protect his brother from? Something John couldn't teach his youngest son how to fight? This was new for them. This was terrifying.

"Look, my shift started after your brother was brought in. All I know for sure is that he was treated by Dr. Kurt. It's been a busy night." The lady raised her hands slightly, in a show of defense or defeat.

"I don't really care how busy..."

However, this time Dean was cut off by his father.

"Dr. Kurt isn't the name of the doctor who contacted us." John's teeth were gritted, but he managed a much more pleasant tone than his son. "Are you sure you have the right file?"

The woman's brow furrowed in honest confusion. "I don't know who else could of..."

She was cut off by a deep, tired old voice behind them. "I believe Dr. Grandel made that call after Sam gave one of our nurses a bit of trouble."

Dean and John both spun around to face the doctor that had appeared behind them. He seemed to be in his late fifties. His hair was graying and the lines on his face traced the life of a man that had experienced far too much pain, seen too much loss.

"Dr. Kurt, good." The annoying lady sounded relieved and Dean had the fleeting urge to flick her off. "These two are here about Samuel Winchester."

"I know, I heard them." The doctor smiled at the women, but his sarcasm was barley hidden. Dean found himself immediately trusting this old man.

"If you two would come with me, we can go somewhere and talk more privately." he waited for their responses before proceeding down the short hallway.

Dean considered objecting and demanding to know what was going on right now. But his dad pulled on his sleeve, leaving him little choice in the matter.

Soon all three men stood in a more secluded part of the hospital hallway. Away from the hustle and bustle of all the patients. John was ringing his hands nervously, looking at the doctor expectantly.

Dean had never seen his father look more scared. He knew the older man had faced terrifying things on hunts before, but there's something about the adrenaline a fight empowers you with, that allows you to feed on that fear. To help, instead on hinder, you.

This was different. Both men had had an hour and a half car ride to let their respective fear stew and now it was eating away at them.

"How's my son?" His voice was shaking.

The doctor sighed. "Physically, Sam is alright. He's dislocated his shoulder; they reset it on the ambulance ride here. He tore a ligament. We gave him a sling that he's going to have to use for two weeks, and he'll have to take it easy for about a month or so after that. Depending on how much effort he puts into the stretching and physical therapy exercises we recommend, he'll regain full use of it in no time."

The physical stuff was the easy part for doctors. The rest was a decision of what to tell whom; and it was always dependent on how much the doctor had come to care about the patient in question.

Dr. Kurt knew of Dean and John Winchester. He had gotten the father's name from the file he had on Sam, where he'd gotten his name, age, medical history. All the standard stuff that accompanied boring medical files.

Information on Dean, however, came from Dr. Grandel, when he had explained who he had contacted on Sam's behalf, and why.

Calling an older sibling when a parent was available was an unorthodox thing to do, but in Sam's case, it had seemed too irrelevant to really make an issue. Moreover, Sam had seemed dead set on his decision, and by the time it was brought to his attention, the doctor was too worried about other things to really care.

"I'm not sure I understand exactly what happened." John spoke slowly, obviously still trying to wrap his mind around everything. "I know this was the result of a car accident, but Sam doesn't have a car. He doesn't even have his license."

"He was riding in a car with another boy. An Alex Brecken." Dr. Kurt searched their faces for signs that they recognized the name.

John was only vaguely aware of who the doctor was referring to, having heard it mentioned randomly in conversation once or twice. His knowledge went about as far as; some kid Sam hung out with.

Dean was a more interesting sight. Try as he might, he could not keep the anger off his features. In his opinion, this kid had caused way too many problems for them already. He was the reason Dean and Sam hadn't spoken in days. Now he was the person responsible for his kid brother getting into a car crash? Dean could not accept this.

"Was he drunk or something?" Dean seethed. "I bet you anything he was drunk, or stoned. Irresponsible, wanna be tough, juvenile delinquent."

Both Dr. Kurt and his dad were surprised at the ferocity of his outburst. Nevertheless, John didn't hesitate to jump on the bandwagon, desperate for anything to blame this on. Dean and his father shared that trait, the need to assign blame.

If they had something to be angry at, then they had something to fight, and that's the only way John knew how to deal with anything. It's the only way Dean liked to deal with anything.

"Is that true?" he asked angrily. "Where is the little..."

"Mr. Winchester, Dean." The tone of the old doctor's voice could not be ignored. "Alex Brecken was killed tonight."

An eternity passed in a moment. Before guilt and remorse came crashing down upon him.

"Oh." Dean said stupidly.

For a few moments, the doctor explained the specifics behind the accident. How Sam had managed to escape with minor injuries while Alex had been killed. Dean wondered if he was explaining all this because he thought they needed to know, or if his dad had asked and Dean had some how missed it.

He felt as if he was drowning in a sea of guilt, and the twisting, churning feeling in his gut agreed entirely. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought someone had come up and sucker punched him in the abdomen. This wasn't right; this was not something Sammy was supposed to have to deal with.

"When he found out Alex didn't make it, he went into shock and passed out." The doctor was back to talking about Sam, and Dean focused on him again.

"I gave him a sedative a couple of hours ago. He should be fine enough to leave by morning." Dr. Kurt sighed. "I could tell by Sam's reaction and concern that he and Alex had been very good friends. This is an emotional experience that should be handled delicately. Psychologically speaking, Sam's going to be in a very vulnerable place for a while."

Dean might have imagined it, but he swore the doctor's eyes were focused on him.

Was it possible he knew? Did this doctor somehow know about what had happened just days ago, what the brothers had fought about? Or was he just being paranoid? Maybe his guilt was that transparent. Perhaps it was that obvious that he was a bad brother.

"I want to see my son." John's voice left very little room for argument.

The room Sam was set up in looked more like a waiting room than it did a hospital room. The walls were a pale blue, instead of the expected white. A single bed sat in the center of the room.

There were no intense machines or tubes connected anywhere to Sam. He didn't even sport the usual hospital attire. He was still clad in baggy blue jeans and a white undershirt. He was simply sleeping.

In fact, if you ignored the sling cradling his left arm and his extreme paleness, he looked almost normal.

Yeah, Dean thought sarcastically to himself. His normal, hospitalized, emotionally unstable little brother.

Sam wasn't okay, the doctor was wrong. Sam couldn't be fine; he'd just lost his best friend.

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It didn't take Sam long to become aware of his surroundings this time. After all, it was the second time he'd woken up here and the uncomfortable feeling of the hospital bed was a hard thing to forget.

Something was different this time though. He didn't open his eyes, just focused on that feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt..._safe_.

"They were good friends dad, I told you that already." The hushed voice of his older brother rang throughout the tiny room. That explained the safe feeling.

"Is that why Sam hasn't wanted to move in so long?" His father's accusing voice joined his and it didn't take Sam long to put the pieces together. They had finally gotten the message and driven here. By the sound of their tired voices, they'd obviously been there, waiting for Sam to wake up, for a while now. "Because I thought he wanted to stay to take his S.A.T.'s at the end of the year."

"I'm sure that's true." Dean's voice was attempting to calm their father. Sam couldn't understand why he was so upset.

"I don't think it is. I think Sam lied to me so he could stay in this town with his _friend._" Sam could hear the inverted commas fall into place around 'friend'. Like it was a dirty word or something. It provoked an unnamed and unpleasant feeling in Sam. One he did not want to examine. So he focused instead on his brother's next words.

"The guy just died, dad." Dean's voice had a tinge of anger that surprised Sam.

The last time they had spoken, Dean had made some crude remark about Sam and Alex having sex. It was funny, up until that very moment, Sam had forgotten all about it. He remembered now though, how pissed off he had been at the time. Dean was his older brother, and sure, they fought sometimes, but he wasn't supposed to say things like that. Things purposely intended to cause pain.

"Death is always a tragedy." John admitted and there were a few minutes of silence. Sam felt a little weird, just laying there listening to them, letting them believe he was asleep. But for some reason he could not bring himself to open his eyes and admit to consciousness.

Maybe it was because he could not bring himself to face them.

He imagined how conflicted Dean must have been feeling. He knew his brother was not good with complex emotions and Sam felt slightly sorry for him.

It had taken him an hour's worth of internal rants, a three-mile jog and two of his father's beers, but he had finally figured it out. Dean had acted like a jerk because he was jealous.

For as long as Sam could remember, it had always been Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. Two brothers against a world full of evil things. At least, that's how it always felt to Sam, and presumably Dean as well.

Dean spent his life protecting Sam, and Sam let him. Not knowing how else to live, not wanting to live anyway else.

When Sam started hanging around with Alex, and getting attached to the other boy, Dean got scared. Scared that if Sam and Alex became close enough, that Sam wouldn't need him anymore. That Alex could somehow drive a wedge between them or take his place.

Dean had been threatened of Alex's influence over him and jealous of how close they had become.

When Sam realized this, the intense, seething anger he'd been feeling towards Dean had dulled to mild annoyance. He thought that Dean should know him better than that. But Sam could at least see where his older brother was coming from.

He wasn't sure how he would act if the situation had been reversed. If Dean started spending all his free time with another guy, a friend. If he started to call the guy his best friend. Or even if he got a serious girlfriend and fell in love. Sam didn't want to think about how he'd be in that situation. He could only hope that it didn't come up for a very, very long time.

So he'd made up his mind to forgive Dean as soon as he attempted to apologize, which Sam knew he would eventually.

Then he'd gotten in Alex's car, put on his seat belt, and everything changed.

"Maybe this is a good thing." Sam was jolted back to the reality of the hospital room, after having almost drifted back to sleep thinking about the events of the last few days.

"Tell me you did not just say that?" Dean's disbelieving tone had Sam wide awake in a heartbeat though. Ensuring him that his father's mumbled words _weren't _a figment of his half-conscious mind.

"I'm not saying that _death _is ever a good thing." John quickly defended himself. "And I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I'm just saying, there's nothing we can do to change what happened, and maybe we can use this to get Sam to believe what you and I already know."

Sam imagined that Dean gave their father some sort of look, because he kept speaking after a momentary pause.

"That forming any type of serious relationship outside this family is dangerous. That keeping everyone at arm's length is necessary for the kind of work we do."

Sam had never fully comprehended how broken his father really was, until that moment. The moment he admitted he was willing to use his son's grief against him, to make him a better hunter. He felt tears sting at his eyes.

"You expect me to _agree _with that?" Dean's voice was disgusted and Sam couldn't help but feel relieved. He didn't know what he would do if his brother had sided with his father on that. "Sam's friend just _died_, and you want to look at it like it's a _good _thing?"

Sam was absently amazed at how low Dean's voice still was. It sounded scary.

"I'm just asking you to see this from a different view." His father's voice too, was still low, but there was a hint of pleading in it that made Sam want to smirk triumphantly. "The kid is dead. That's a tragedy, yes. But if we let Sam focus on that and nothing else, you know everything's gonna go to hell. He'll stop training all together; he'll get lazy and depressed. And the next time he's up against something he can't face, he'll be the one who dies. Do you want that?"

"Of course not." Dean responded automatically.

"So you agree with me, we should use this to help Sam understand."

"You know, you keep saying 'we'." Dean pointed out. "But if you want to try to use this death as a way to help you make Sam start... playing by your rules, then you're on your own."

Sam could have sworn he felt Dean take a step closer to his bed.

"Now listen to me Dean..." but Dean wouldn't hear it. He cut his father off, something that Sam had no memory of his brother ever doing. Ever.

"No. You listen to me for once. I don't care if you spend the rest of your life trying to get Sam to be the good little soldier you turned me into, Sammy's got a mind of his own. He'll do what he wants." Dean took a breath, and Sam actually had to struggle to hear his next words. "But if you _ever _use tonight as a way to do it, I swear to God I'll..."

"You'll what Dean? What would you do to me?" Taunting. Used as a method to get the enemy to loose his cool. Sam knew the old tactic well. Fortunately, so did Dean, and he stayed calm.

"I won't let Sam live in a place where tragedies turn into training methods. You know Sam, dad. He couldn't live like that." Sam highly doubted his father knew him at all, but that was a fleeting thought, as he was focused intently on the words being spoken around him.

"So you're saying that you'd take him away? That you'd run away?" Now it was John's voice that was disbelieving.

"I'd protect him." Dean confirmed. "Isn't that what you raised me to do?"

His words were now taunting, Sam marveled at how they could switch places so easily.

"From demons and ghosts, Dean! Not from me! I'm his father."

"If you'd pray on Sam's mental state like that, if you'd take the best friend the kid's ever had and use his death as something that could benefit _you_ and _your _goalthen yeah, you _are _something he needs protecting from."

Sam could not believe what he was hearing. His heart was pounding frantically and he wished that he could open his eyes, but he knew he couldn't. Because if he did, they would stop talking, Dean would stop defending him. Stop standing up to their dad.

Sam knew this was something Dean needed desperately to do. Whether these feelings, of obvious resentment, were freshly formed out of anger for what John was saying and Dean's need to defend Sam. Or if they were long standing and just now being brought to the surface. Sam kept quiet because Dean needed to make his opinions known.

Maybe even more than Dean needed to say it, Sam needed to hear it. He needed to confirm his belief that his older brother would defend him no matter what. Even when that meant going up against their father.

It took him a moment, but Sam identified the feeling coursing through him as pride. Dean could beat up any bully. Kill any supernatural phenomenon that dare messed with his little brother, but never before had Dean stood up to their dad. It reassured Sam, and made him proud.

"Are you sure your my son?" John was angry now. "Because no son of mine would dare speak to me like that."

Sam didn't really think about it. All the fights he and his dad had had before tonight. Many of them much worse than the one taking place right now. Obviously, John held his eldest son to a higher standard.

He didn't think about how his father was implying that Sam wasn't really his son. He didn't think about it; but he couldn't help feeling it.

"I'm your son. Your _warrior,_" Dean spit the word distastefully. "Second. I'm Sammy's brother first. That's just the way it is."

Sam could feel the tension in the air, it was all consuming. Mixed with his pride and guilt, he found it surprisingly difficult to breathe.

"Fine." The word was final.

Sam heard him walk to the door and slam it behind him as he stormed out. He'd been expecting it though, so he didn't flinch, didn't even move.

It did, however, become easier to breathe after he knew their father was gone.

Dean was silent for a moment, then chuckled tensely.

"Sammy, man," he said, taking a deep, calming breath. "I've yelled at him a lot tonight." Another pause. "You need to wake up. That doctor said you weren't really hurt, but it's been hours and your still not awake. Seriously, this whole, still as a dead person, coma like sleep is starting to freak me out a little. I need to talk to you, Sam."

"I'm awake." Sam's voice sounded more choked than he'd expected it to. He opened his eyes, glaring at the offending florescent lights of the room. He had wanted to say something witty and clever, like Dean would of, but found he was just not up to it.

Dean's face, even as Sam blinked to clear his vision, looked unmistakably relieved.

"You could of mentioned that before I got all... Chick flick moment." Dean would always be Dean.

"Chick flick moment?" Sam couldn't help but question. "That's a nice way to phrase your little emotional outburst."

His older brother simply shrugged, and Sam felt the mood of the room thicken, although it wasn't as uncomfortable as it had been moments before when their father had been present. As Dean took a seat on the bed, parallel to Sam's hip.

Sam sat up slightly, propping himself against the back of the bed. He was happy to note that the extreme grogginess that had accompanied him the last time he'd woken up was no longer present.

"Sam..." The way Dean let his voice trail off made him sad. "How long have you been wake?"

"A while." he said vaguely.

Dean nodded and looked, for a moment, like he wasn't going to press it. Sam should have known better.

"Did you hear?" he asked. "What dad said?" Dean never was one for mind games, or tricks.

"Yeah." he admitted, only because he knew he wouldn't be able to lie to his brother. Not like this, while he was laying on a hospital bed. Feeling weak and emotionally drained. He could barely ever get away with lying to Dean, and he didn't try all that much either.

"I'm sorry." he said and his eyes searched Sam's.

"Because dad was being a jerk?" Sam smiled lightly. "It's not like its surprising or anything. I liked how you yelled at him, though. How does it feel, being the bad son?"

"Dad had no right to say the things he did Sam." Dean wouldn't let his joking words distract him.

"I know." Sam said seriously. "Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way."

Dean nodded and a moment of silence passed. Sam could tell by the conflicting emotions flickering across his brother's features and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck, that he had something else to say.

"What is it Dean?" Sam asked softly, fearing that there might have been a part of the conversation that he'd missed.

"What I said the other day..." Dean started and Sam knew immediately what he was referring to and where he was going.

"It's okay." Sam interrupted.

"No it's not. I was... I..."

"Acted like a dick?" Sam supplied. His words were firm, but they lacked any real anger.

Dean looked at him, his eyes filled with a pleading, sad, desperate, almost pathetic look. It made Sam falter because he wasn't used to seeing that looked draped over his brother's face. Then again, tonight had held a whole slew of surprises for Dean.

"Yeah, I did." he admitted softly and hung his head.

"You know, you wouldn't be saying that if Alex hadn't just..." Sam had tried to say the words with a straight face. Attempted casual even, to prove to Dean that he was all right. But his voice faltered and his eyes focused on some random spot on the wall, just right of Dean's concerned glaze. "Died." he finished softly and took a deep breath. "He's dead."

A long silence filled the room, as Dean allowed Sam time to try and compose himself. It took a few minutes before Sam's shallow breathing evened out at all. He was fighting tears, and it made Dean's heart break.

"I'm sorry Sammy." Dean spoke barely above a whisper.

Sam's snort sounded suspiciously like a sob, "Talk about your chick flick moments."

Dean forced a smirk, but couldn't hide his growing concern. This was his little brother. The squirt he'd been taking care of since that fateful night so many years ago, when their mother had been murdered.

Looking helpless, confined to a hospital bed. Physically fine, yet moments away from a complete breakdown.

"Sam..." Dean started, not knowing what to say, only that he wanted to comfort his baby brother somehow.

"Why, Dean?" Sam's gaze met his, and for a fleeting second, Dean wished it hadn't. His eyes were so laced with confusion, sadness, and anger. His voice cracked with child like innocence and Dean could tell something in him was breaking.

The same thing that had broken in Dean all those years ago after their mom's death. It was what their dad had been using to get Dean to help him fight. Help him find the thing that had killed their mother.

It was that innocence that had protected Sam, that made him hate their father for what he turned them into. It was what had protected Sam better than Dean ever could.

Until now.

"Sam..." Dean tried, but his brother kept going.

"It's not fair." His voice was choked, but rising with intensity. "It was a car accident. It was a drunk driver and a pole and a heap of metal. What's the point of being able to fight evil, if we can't even save people from car accidents?"

Sam sounded somewhere in between angry and desperate and pleading. "It was a car crash." he threw his hands up, exasperated. "Why couldn't it of been a ghost? Or a demon? A poltergeist? Even the thing that killed mom? If it was that, dad wouldn't waste any time tracking it down and killing it.

He wouldn't be saying that Alex's death is a _good _thing..." his voice broke. "He wouldn't be trying to use it to... He wouldn't...And you two wouldn't be fighting...and I...I hate this Dean."

Finally, Sam let a chocked sob escape. He glanced at his brother, with scared, tear-filled eyes, as if expecting to be criticized for being emotional.

'I'm not dad.' Dean wanted to remind him, but said only,

"It's okay Sammy. I know."

"I really hate this."

Sam's hands covered his face as he continued to sob. Great wracking sobs that shook his entire body.

Dean scooted farther up the bed and placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. It was the only thing Dean could think of to do for him. Because he couldn't fix this.

There was nothing Dean could say that would repair what had been broken tonight. He wished, to whatever higher might exist, that there was.

He wished he could tell Sam that everything would get better. That the pain would heal completely, and he'd be able to move on. But Dean could not lie to Sam. And that's all those words were; empty promises. Lies.

The truth was, the pain would always be there. Sure, it would fade over time. Or he would adjust to it so much that it only felt like it had faded, Dean had never been able to tell the difference.

You never fully move on from a tragedy like this. Look at their dad; he'd spent the last seventeen years searching for the thing that had killed his wife. He damaged both his sons in the process. All because he couldn't let go.

Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder and mumbled, "It's alright

Sammy." and even though he knew it wasn't, he had to say something to let his little brother know that he was there for him.

That was the best he could do now.

"You'll be okay, I'm here." Dean wasn't even sure if Sam could hear him over his sobbing. "I'll always be here."

It wasn't enough though. Sam was in pain. So much pain that Dean could do nothing about. Because try as he might, he couldn't bring the dead back to life. He couldn't erase what he had said to Sam days ago, or what he had over heard between him and their father. He couldn't stop Sam from feeling guilty. He couldn't do anything to make this kind of pain go away.

He was helpless.

End Chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating:  T or PG 13

Chapter Four: Then it Changed Back

The next day dawned bleak and miserable, which Dean thought was morbidly appropriate. After his breakdown the night before, Sam had fallen into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning all night but thankfully not waking until late this afternoon. Dean had stayed at his side all night. Nodding off here and there, only to be jerked back awake at the slightest shift in movement from Sam.

Their dad had made himself scarce since their fight, hiding in the cafeteria drinking coffee, was Dean's guess. Yet for all he knew, John could of driven back to Cleveland and had another go at the uber- ghost, Dean didn't care all that much, as long as he stayed far away from Sam.

Logically, Dean realized that John was their father, and he would eventually have to speak to his youngest son, but Dean had been feeling so protective since the night before. The need to keep his little brother away from hurt out weighed everything else, including logic.

Sam had barely spoken since he had woken up that morning, which had Dean worried. Sam was either avoiding discussion or avoiding Dean. Although he highly doubted it was the latter. In truth, Sam had been uncharacteristically clingy since his meltdown. Not in a way that would be obvious to anyone who didn't know him, but it was very apparent to Dean.

Sam usually desired compete and total independence, from anyone or anything that dare tried to tell him what to do; but he hadn't been that person for the last couple hours. He'd been sticking closely to his brother. Not wanting to leave the same room, letting him speak when the nurse came in to check on him one last time, ensuring that he was indeed healthy enough to be released. He was being quiet too, like he was scared or, well, in mourning. Which made sense, Dean realized, but he still he didn't like seeing his baby brother so broken.

"Time to get out of here." Dr. Kurt's voice was immediately recognizable when he entered the room. Dean wondered absently if this man ever went home. A quick, almost subconscious, glance at his hand informed him that the doctor wasn't married.

An entire life devoted to helping other people. Doctor's were a lot like Winchester's. Maybe, Dean thought, I should appreciate that more. Just because they fight things that people actually believe in, it doesn't make their jobs any less a part of who they are.

Sam was sitting upright on the bed, his arm was still in the sling, as it would be for a few weeks. His head was down, allowing his long bangs to fall forward into his face. Dad had yelled at Sam so many times about his shaggy hair, said it would be a hindrance during battle. As far as Dean could tell, though, it had never bothered him in the least.

Sam shot a glance at his older brother, who was standing at the foot of the bed, with an essence similar to that of a watchdog. Dean knew immediately what he was asking and looked at Dr. Kurt questioningly. "Where's our dad?"

"Your father has already filled out the forms stating that Sam is free to go. I believe he's waiting by the exit. He was looking rather impatient when I passed him earlier." The doctor crossed his arms in front of the clip board he was holding.

"Okay." Dean nodded. "I guess we'll..."

"Actually, Sam." Dr. Kurt interrupted and Sam looked up at him. "We finally heard from Alex's relatives."

Dean's head whipped from the doctor to his little brother, not knowing what to expect and ready to get angry and defensive on Sammy's behalf.

Sam, however, just nodded slightly in the doctor's direction, indicating that he wanted to hear whatever he had to say.

"They live in Texas." Dr. Kurt smirked slightly, and surprisingly enough, so did Sam. Dean wondered if there was something he'd missed, but didn't question it. "They've arranged for his body to be flown down there, so they can hold the funeral."

Sam nodded, Dean wanted to say something comforting and reassuring, but Sam's head snapped up before he got the chance.

"What about Alex's roommates. His friends. Do they know..." Sam trailed off and Dean took a step closer to him.

"They were contacted last night by Dr. Grandel, around the same time he called," he nodded in Dean's direction. "Your brother."

"Oh," Sam said. "Right."

"Do you want to go to the funeral?" Dean asked bluntly.

Sam turned to face him, his mouth opened, then shut. He looked so conflicted and Dean guessed he was thinking about their father and the fight he had heard last night between him and Dean. After a moment he simply shrugged, it seemed like he lacked the energy to do anything else.

"I could get dad..." Dean didn't know whether he was going to say he could get dad to let him go, or he could talk him into letting them take the car. Luckily he didn't have to figure it out, as he was cut off by Sam's bitter, biting comment.

"Dad can go screw himself."

Well, Dean thought. At least he still had enough energy to be angry. That had to be a good sign, right?

"Okay." Dean nodded simply, not missing a beat. "Then I can take you. If you want to go Sammy, I can get you there."

"It's in four days." Dr. Kurt added helpfully. His eyes had been darting back and forth between the two brothers and Dean had honestly forgotten he was there. He nodded in his direction, and the doctor continued, concerned eyes focused on the youngest Winchester. "Funerals sometimes provide the closure we need, Sam. To help us move on with our lives after we loose someone we care about." he stepped over to Dean and handed him a folded piece of computer paper. "This is the address of Alex's relatives, and the directions to their house from here and a list of airports with available flights."

The only sign that Sam had heard the words at all came in the form of his eyes darting to the window on the other side of the room. It was still cloudy and drizzling slightly, making it appear as if it were still extremely early morning; not almost noon.

"We'll consider it, Doc." Dean answered for Sam, knowing his little brother wouldn't.

"Alright." he replied after a moment, finally pulling his concerned eyes away from the two brothers. "Then your free to go. Take care of yourself."

He shot a meaningful look in Dean's direction before leaving the room, to which Dean smiled and nodded firmly to. He would take care of his brother. No matter what.

00000000000000000000000

Sam sat quietly in the back seat of the car. He had said nothing to his father, save a mumbled 'fine' since he had seen the man after being released from the hospital. He'd had the strongest urge to ask Dean to sit in the backseat with him, but suppressed it, knowing his father would mock his childishness.

He watched the gloomy day zoom past his window. He tried to focus on it and nothing else.

Which was becoming increasingly difficult to accomplish. The feeling in the car was reminiscent of the one in the hospital room the night before. The tension was thick between his brother and their father.

Yet he could think of nothing but Alex. Who was dead. Dead. Death. It was such a stupid word. They should of made up a more respectful word when they were deciding what to call it, when someone disappeared from the world entirely.

Death. It rhymed with breath. Breathing was something you only got to do when you were alive. So it really wasn't right that those two words were so similar. Although die rhymed with sky, which is supposedly where you went once you died. Maybe that was the logic in creating the word. Then again, once you died, you never saw the sky again. Which also seemed unfair.

The rain soaked road continued to pass by outside his window. He attempted, for a few minutes, to count the white markings that separated the two lane street as they flew by. It was giving him a headache though, so he stopped before he even reached fifty.

He noted absently that he was once again in a car. Wearing a seatbelt. Shouldn't he be having some type nervous flashback? He'd had a panic attack the night before, how is it that getting a car for the first time, only hours after the accident that had killed Alex, wasn't frightening?

He had no idea. Although this did explain the worried, anxious look Dean had thrown him when they had made their way out to their dad's battered, old '79 Crown Victoria. Here Sam thought it was just his brother's over protectiveness acting up, as it had been all night.

He couldn't say he wasn't grateful for it though. He knew he'd been leaning on Dean a lot, but his brother had taken over the roll of protector easily. As he always did, as he was taught to do.

Sam wanted to think his brother would be the same way, even if the had the most standard of lives. With a normal mom and dad, no supernatural hunts, a white picket fence, all that crap that made Dean want to vomit.

Would his brother still be the same guy? Would Sam? Would he still have know Alex? Would Alex still be dead? Would Sam be dead as well, if putting on a seatbelt hadn't been engrained into his childhood as it had been?

Pointless, painful questions such as these had been swirling through Sam's head for far too long. He wanted to tell them to shut up, that it didn't make a difference. Alex was dead, and nothing would change that. But he wasn't ready to face the reality of that yet, so he took the questions and meaningless 'what ifs' and hid behind them. Away from the truth.

"We're moving." John's voice was sudden and abrupt, causing both of his children to jump slightly. He ignored it though, and kept talking. "I'm driving back to Cleveland tonight to finish the job we were on before. When I get back, I expect you two to have everything necessary packed. There's been a cluster of supernatural activity around a city in Montana, so we'll be staying there for a while."

"We're leaving _now_!" Dean asked ludicrously.

"That's what I just said." John snapped. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed. "Of course I..."

"Your out of line son." John said dangerously. "I'll forget what happened last night, the circumstances being what they were. But don't think you'll get way with speaking to me like that ever again."

Sam could tell that their dad was testing Dean, to see how much of a hold he still had over him. He'd done the same thing when Sam was 12 or 13. The first time they'd gotten into a major fight. It was sad that he had to use the same tactics on his twenty year old son, that he had used on a pre adolescent kid.

"What I said last night was true and _you _were out of line." Dean remained calm, but Sam could detect a hint of underlying fear.

"I don't think so Dean. Don't forget, I'm still your father, whether you like it or not, and you have to listen to me." John warned.

Sam knew where it would go from there. John would continue to taunt him, until Dean either backed down or got angry. If he backed down, that was it, their father had won. If he got angry, they would continue to fight until one stormed off, or John issued some kind of ultimatum.

While their arguing was taking his mind away from his own thoughts, something Sam was grateful for, he didn't want to drive a wedge any farther between them. He'd been proud of Dean last night for standing up for himself, but now he just felt guilty that he'd been the one to cause all this in the first place.

"It's fine." Sam interrupted. "Let's move to Montana. I don't care."

"Sammy..." Dean turned in his seat to try and catch his eye, but he ignored him.

"Really, I'd rather get out of this town anyway." he insisted, still starring out the window.

"There!" John said, ignoring his eldest son's half hearted protests. "That settles it. Montana it is."

The rest of the car ride passed with no incident, just thick tension that Sam was all too happy to ignore.

0000000000000000000000000000000

"Don't Dean." Sam warned. They had arrived back at the apartment minutes before. Sam had gone into his room, to begin packing, Dean had followed. Their father was still outside, reloading the car for his impending hunt.

"Don't what?" Dean asked innocently.

"Don't say whatever it is you wanna say." Sam said. "Don't preach, don't lecture, don't yell at me. And don't fight with dad. Let's just go back to the way things were before last night, okay?"

"Ah, no Sammy, it's not okay." Dean stood solidly in the center of the room, watching Sam pull open drawers and shuffle through his tiny closet.

"Don't call me Sammy." he added.

"Sam," he sighed. "Things aren't the same as they were."

"No shit Sherlock." he snapped. "But I want them to be."

"Tough." he said simply. "They aren't gonna be, and you can't run from that."

"Really?" Sam questioned. "Cause Montana is pretty far away."

"I know, which is why we shouldn't go." Dean argued.

"I don't think we get a choice in the matter." Sam reminded him. He was shuffling through T-shirts with his good hand. "Is this your Black Sabbath T-shirt?"

"Yeah." he said distractedly. "And we always have a choice in the matter."

"Why do I have your T-shirt?" Sam asked, ignoring everything else his brother said.

"I mean it Sam, we don't have to go to Montana. And you _can _go to Alex's funeral, in fact I think..."

"I don't want to go the funeral." he snapped. Although in truth he hadn't thought about it, been avoiding thinking about it, really. "And I _do _want to get out of this city."

"Getting out of the city isn't going change anything." Dean said. "It isn't going to stop me and dad, or even you and dad, from fighting."

"I know." Sam said tightly.

"It isn't going to erase what happened."

"Dean..." Sam warned, expressing in that one word how much he wanted his brother to stop.

"It isn't going to bring Alex back, or make you miss him any less."

"God Dean!" he shouted angrily. "For a guy who doesn't like mushy, chick flick moments, you sure as hell initiate enough of them."

"I'm not gonna let you run away from this." he said.

"Why not?" Sam asked childishly. "What difference does it make?"

"You want to turn out like dad? Look at what mom's death did to him."

"I'm not dad." Sam said fiercely. "And I _never _will be."

"You hope." His brother said almost flippantly.

Sam rushed at Dean before he had time to think about it, using his good arm to pin the shorter, yet stronger, man to the wall. He saw the slight surprise in his eyes, but Dean made no effort to fight back, he only raised his eyebrows slightly.

"I. Am. _Not_. Dad." Sam seethed, his voice deep yet his eyes held unmasked pleading. "I can't be."

After a moment he released his brother and backed away shakily. Rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry, I..."

"It's alright." Dean said, shaking himself out. And Sam knew it was, he knew Dean wouldn't be angry at him for being emotional, no matter what form it came in.

"I..." For a moment Sam had nothing to say. Then he said the only thing he could think of, hoping it would dispel the tension in the room. "You should pack. We only have a day or two to get everything together."

"Yeah." Dean said, and Sam could hear an infliction in his brother's voice, the emotion behind which he could not place. "Yeah, I guess I should." A beat later he walked out of the room.

Sam sighed and sat down on his bed, amongst the scattered contents of his wardrobe. Plus Dean's T-shirt, he noted absently.

He thought he'd gotten his way when Dean left the room without further protest. He hadn't thought about it before, but he didn't want to go Alex's funeral. Did he? Dean had let the subject go, and that's what he wanted. Right?

He had no idea anymore. The only real emotion he could identify was this empty one. One that made him feel like he had to do something, but every time he thought about doing something, he wanted to burst into tears or beat something up.

This was the feeling people generally chased away with drugs and alcohol or sex or crime. It was what his dad chased away by battling evil things and seeking vengeance, and teaching his sons to do the same.

Grief. He thought as he laid down on his bed, ignoring the piles of clothes and shutting his eyes.

He had just defined grief.

0000000000000000000000000000000000

Dean hung up the phone, a satisfying click echoing throughout the empty living room.

Their father had left for Cleveland, as he said he was going to, a few hours before. Dean hadn't heard a sound out of his brother's room since their conversation earlier. But a quick peek inside few hours earlier had informed him that Sam had fallen asleep.

Now Dean was faced with the task of waking him up. Something that was extremely easy to do, as both of them were trained to be light sleepers. Yet something he hated the thought of doing, as he knew how much his younger brother probably needed the rest.

He shook off his guilt however, thinking that what he was doing was more important. It might make Sammy hate him forever, but it was more important.

He took a seat on the edge of his brother's bed once he entered the room, much the same way he had done at the hospital. He placed a hand on his non-injured shoulder and shook him lightly.

"Come on, little brother, time to wake up." It was the gentlest Dean had ever been in waking him up. Not that it shocked him, he'd been incredibly, and uncharacteristically, sweet towards Sam lately. Guilt, understanding and protectiveness could do that to a guy.

"...what..." He said groggily, lifting his head slightly towards his brother's voice.

"I said, time to get up." Dean repeated, he brushed a little hair out of Sam's eyes and thought briefly that maybe he should entertain the idea of getting it trimmed a bit. "We got places to go."

"Dad..." His voice was only slightly more coherent, and questioning.

"Dad's halfway to Cleveland." Dean said. "_We've _got places to go."

"What are you talking about?" Sam sat halfway up and winced openly.

"What's up?" Dean asked concerned. "Does your shoulder hurt?"

"Naw," Sam said, half yawning and stretching, half trying to face Dean. "I fell asleep on a lumpy pile of clothes. You try it sometime and tell me how it feels when you wake up."

He chuckled slightly, relieved that at least Sam didn't seem to hold any type of grudge from their earlier dramatics.

"Good, cause its time to get your lazy ass up. Get dressed, we're going out."

"I'm really not in the mood to go out." Sam said, looking down and playing with a thread on one of his shirts.

"Come on," Dean pleaded. "It'll be good for you. Plus there's something I want you to see."

"Can't you show it to me here?" Sam was close to whining.

"If I could, I would." He explained slowly. "But it's not here. Come on. Up dressed and ready to go in ten minutes or else."

"Or else what?" Only now Sam's tone was accepting and almost light, he was already moving to get off the bed.

"You don't want to know." Dean said hopping off the bed and smacking his little brother's knee. "Now get moving."

Fifteen minutes later found them walking briskly down the street. The almost winter like weather dictated what they wore, more so than any fashion impulse might of. Dean had his ever present black leather jacket. While Sam layered up comfortably in a hoodie beneath a heavy jean jacket. Both had their hands shoved deeply into their pockets.

"So your not planning on telling me where we're going?" Sam confirmed, his breath coming out in little puffs.

"Nope." Dean smirked. "We'll be there soon."

So the two brothers walked in comfortable silence. Dean wondered if he was doing the right thing, or if was making the biggest mistake of his life. He knew Sam was at a critical point right now, and he had seen his brother deal with grief before. Granted, grief on a much smaller scale, but grief all the same, and Sam always reacted the same way. He ran away. He ignored it.

Dean had never tried before to get him to change that, he figured everyone had their own ways of dealing. It's not like Dean was the most open and sharing person, and he rather liked his brother's lack of interest in having heart to heart conversations, newly dubbed; chick flick moments.

This was different. This wasn't some random innocent Sammy had seen get murdered on a job. This wasn't something that would get drowned out by their next task, the next thing they killed, the next time they succeeded in saving someone. More importantly, this wasn't something he could get closure from by killing the thing that had caused it.

He couldn't shoot or perform an exorcism on the car Alex had been driving. He couldn't hunt down and kill the guy who'd been behind the wheel of the car that had smashed into them; as that drunken loser had died on impact.

Dean wasn't the smartest guy in the world, he didn't possess the book smarts Sam did, he wasn't even up to par with their dad's knowledge of the paranormal, but he knew his brother. He knew Sam would want closure, and he'd be resentful later if he didn't get it now.

So, yes, Dean knew he was doing the right thing.

That knowledge however, didn't take away from the nervous feeling coursing throughout his body however, and he swallowed thickly.

"We're here." Dean announced, relieved that he no longer had to wallow in his self doubt.

Sam looked around when they stopped walking, confused. They were standing on a main street, many random little stores surrounded them.

Glancing at Dean, he shook his head. "I don't get it."

The older brother gestured across the busy street.

"A gas station?" Sam asked, still sounding rather befuddled.

"Not just a gas station." Dean explained as the light changed and the traffic stopped, allowing them to continue in that direction. "A gas station slash Auto Repair shop."

"I still don't get it." Sam said.

"You know, sometimes you can be really dense." he teased lightly.

"Well excuse me for not being able to read your mind." he snapped, then considered it. "Did you get a job?"

"Try again."

"Did you... No, you didn't. Dean." Sam paused. "Tell me you didn't buy a car."

"That I did little brother." Dean couldn't help but smile, displaying all his perfectly white teeth.

Sam looked astounded. "Does... does dad know?"

"Nope."

"Dude, you really are turning into the bad son."

"I was gonna tell him." he said. "I just never got around to it, and, I don't know..." he trailed off shrugging.

"So, what kind of car is it?" Sam sounded hesitantly interested.

"1967 Chevy Impala." he answered proudly. "Bought it off some idiot who didn't know anything about cars for only a couple hundred bucks. I paid the guy here to let me store it, until I could get it all fixed up."

"Well, let's see it." Sam motioned for them to enter the garage and couldn't help smiling at his brother's enthusiasm. Dean had always had a car fetish.

"Hey Burt!" he called to a middle aged man with a beer belly. He was sporting the attire you would expect of a mechanic, grease stained overalls and a rag slung over his shoulder.

"Dean!" he shouted back, and made his way over. "Good to see ya"

They did the macho guy handshake thing before Dean spoke again.

"Burt, this is my brother Sam. Sam, this is the guy who brought my baby to life."

Burt laughed as he shook Sam's hand, "Ah, he's bein' modest. Your brother here did most a the work. I just made a few last minute repairs."

"Does that mean she's ready to go?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Yup," Burt nodded and pointed in the direction of the car "I even waxed it for ya, just cause I like ya."

"You make me all warm and toasty inside Burt." he smirked. "What do I owe you?"

"For the repairs and the oil change, plus this week's storage fee, it's an even one fifty."

As Dean counted out the bills and handed them over to Burt, Sam took a closer look at the car. Sam wasn't as obsessed with vehicles as his brother was, but he knew a good car when he saw one. And this Impala was impressive. Painted black, with the black leather interior, spacious trunk, perfect for storing weapons of all kinds. Sam was circling the car as his brother walked over.

It screamed Dean, that was unmistakable. If cars and people could find each other like soul mates, Sam was sure these two were a match made in Heaven.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

"It's a frekin' awesome car." Sam said sincerely. "I'm just wondering how you're gonna explain it to dad."

"I'm a grown man, Sam I can get a car if I want. Besides, I don't care what dad thinks."

"Yeah you do." He shrugged when he caught the look Dean shot him. "It's alright, it's understandable. I care what he thinks too. I hate him sometimes, but the stuff that he says still hurts. That's gotta mean I care, right?"

Dean was amazed at how casually Sam could say those words, shrugging as if it took him nothing to figure out the logic behind them.

"You should try being a shrink." Dean's words made him look up, confusion written all over his features. "All that insightful shit and what not."

"Yeah, okay." Sam just shrugged, but something changed in his brother's facial expression, something Dean could not place, but it was gone before he could look again.

"Anyway," Sam went on. "Other than the fight your gonna have with dad about it, I think it's great. We gonna take it for a test drive?" Dean could tell by his voice that Sam assumed this was Dean's way of trying to make him feel better, distract him.

"Yeah." Dean said happily. "To Texas."

Sam jerked slightly, his eyes snapping to Dean. "What?"

"We're going to Texas." he said simply. The feeling of self doubt that had been present before came back full force, but Dean didn't let it in. "Your going to Alex's funeral."

Sam whipped his head around, making sure no one had heard Dean's words, as he had always hated pity. But Burt had gone back inside the little gas station and as far as he could tell, there was no one else around.

"No I'm not." Sam hissed.

"Why not?" Dean asked, trying to stay calm, he knew getting mad or ordering Sam to do as he said wouldn't accomplish anything, except getting his little brother to hate him forever, and he was dangerously close to doing that as it was.

"Because." Sam said.

"Great answer." Dean replied sarcastically.

"I just don't want to go."

"Well I think you should."

"Why?" Sam snapped.

"I want to work on my tan." Dean couldn't help but add a little humor. It made him relax slightly.

"You can do that in Montana." Sam argued.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "But your best friend's funereal isn't in Montana."

Sam sighed, but Dean could see that fierce streak of opposition that had been there moments before, had faded into one of resignation. It sparked a flare of hope in him.

"Dad's gonna be back in less than two days, We'll be in Texas way longer than that."

"I don't care." Dean assured him. "Don't make dad an issue."

"I don't want you two to fight anymore." Sam paused. "Actually, I wouldn't mind it. But I don't want it to be about me."

Dean smirked at his brother's honesty. "I don't mind fighting with him."

"Liar." Sam shot.

"Okay, so it irks me a little, but look at it like this," Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and back slightly on the balls of his feet, he was so close to getting through to him. "You have, what? Like five or six years worth of fights with dad? I've got about a day's worth. You're way ahead, and you _know _I can't let you out do me."

Sam laughed whole heartedly at his brother's logic. Dean was relieved to hear that Sam still had it in him to laugh like that. He shook his head, almost lovingly, and for a second didn't say anything.

The laughter died from his face, but his eyes remained more clear than they had been in a while. He looked pensive, biting his lip subconsciously.

After a minute or two, during which Dean could literally hear his heart pounding in his ears, Sam looked up.

"Okay." he said simply.

"Okay?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised slightly. His brother could be so damn stubborn sometimes, he really wasn't expecting it to be this easy.

"Yeah, I... I _do _want to go. I think." he sighed and looked conflicted. "I don't want to not go now and wish later on that I had, you know?"

"Yeah." Dean said softly. "I kinda had that in mind when I decided this would be a good idea."

"And when _did _you decide that?" Sam asked curiously.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and replied sheepishly, "On the car ride home earlier, when dad said he'd be going out of town without us."

"Sneaky little bastard." Sam smirked.

"Damn straight. No get your ass in my car."

The two brothers slid into the cool, leather seats, marveling at how right it felt. Dean, for the first time in his life, understood what Sam was referring to when he said he had a gut feeling, and he knew how he could trust them so much.

He got the greatest sense of attachment, sitting in that car wit his brother. He didn't know why, but he felt as if this was meant to be.

Him and Sam; in this car.

"I like it." Sam nodded his approval from the passenger's seat.

"Me too, Sammy." he said lightly as he shifted the Impala into gear for the first time. Marveling at how it came to life. "Now lets hit the road."

End Chapter.

Reviews Please!


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for beltbuckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating: T or PG 13

Chapter Five: Hopping 'round from site to site like tourists on vacation

The Winchester boys had been driving for approximately eight hours, according to the clock on the dashboard of the Impala. It was close to midnight and time for them to stop somewhere for the night. Dean couldn't really find the words to breach the conversation topic with his brother, though.

It's wasn't like it was an especially hard conversation to have, Dean was just feeling particularly nervous about saying anything to Sam at the moment. Since they'd been on the road, Sam had alternated between being moodily quiet and oddly chatty.

He had, in less than ten minutes, gone from glaring at Dean threateningly for some inappropriate comment he'd made, to babbling stupidly about some sign they'd passed, to asking the most random of questions.

Do you have car insurance? Does dad? Who pays for the hospital bills when we don't have enough money? How come schools never ask why we move so much, or stay in town for such a short amount of time? And on and on.

Dean had cringed slightly as he was providing the answers. Most involved some sort of lying or stealing, and while Sam understood that what his family did was important, that they were saving lives, and they couldn't exactly charge for that. He was a moral person, and Dean could tell he didn't approve with some of the methods the Winchester's used to get through life.

"_I thought you would of figured this stuff out by now, Sammy." Dean dodged, when the questions got particularly hard to answer._

"_I have mostly; I mean it's pretty obvious we can't exactly pay for everything we need sometimes. And I always see dad, and you, use fake credit cards and stuff." Sam shrugged. "Dad just never actually answered any of my questions. Especially when I was a kid."_

"_What was he supposed to do, tell an eight year old that's its okay to lie, cheat and steal?" Dean asked with his eyebrows raised. "You would have been scarred for life."_

"_As far as I could tell," Sam said, "He never hid any of that stuff from you."_

"_Well, that was different." Dean informed him, not sounding all that sure. "I was older."_

"_Not by much." He pointed out. "And what difference does it make? You were still a little kid. Dad expected you to do way too much, too soon."_

"_Been thinking about this, have you?" Not knowing what else to say._

"_A little." Sam admitted. "Keeps my mind off...everything else."_

_Dean nodded understandingly. "Dad relied on me so much because he didn't have anyone else anymore. Mom's death, it killed a big part of him."_

"_But you still listen to him. You still defend him." Sam wasn't speaking harshly, just in a contemplating manner. If there had been any venom behind his words, Dean probably would have gotten defensive and angry. Instead, he answered calmly after a moment's thought._

"_Until now?" Dean clarified unnecessarily. "Yeah, I always acted the way he needed me to."_

"_Why?" he asked, almost innocently._

"_Because Sam," he repeated. "He needed me. And he's my dad, he's our dad. He was just doing the best he could."_

"_Until now."_

"_Yeah." The words came out softly, and sad. "Until now."_

Dean couldn't really tell if their impromptu serious conversation had helped Sam, or if it had just tightened the tension between them. Sam hadn't spoke since then, in either case. Which was why Dean was abnormally contemplative about starting such a mundane conversation; fear of what it could lead to.

Still he cleared his throat moments later. Dean could scarcely see the road as it was, the city they were passing through, on the way to the next highway, didn't seem to be very big on nighttime driving. The last thing Sam needed was to be in _another_ car accident, he really would be scarred for life.

"We need to stop pretty soon." Dean's voice seemed to pull Sam out of whatever trance he had been in.

"I saw a sign a mile or two back, for a motel around here." Sam said, and Dean was glad he'd been paying attention.

"Good, keep an eye out for it."

Not five minutes later, the exit was in clear view and Dean made his way in that direction smoothly. The Impala stopped in front of a battered old motel, the place looked like it was custom made to be creepy. The parking lot was completely abandoned, save their Impala. The brothers shared a look that said clearly, neither one of them thought this was normal.

They exited the car simultaneously and took a few steps, until they were standing next to each other at the hood of the car. Sam wasn't the only one shivering. The dead silence that surrounded the place was broken only by the steady creaking of the wooden staircase leading up to the second floor of rooms. No wind howled, which made that noise especially suspicious. The neon 'Motel' sign was flickering, illuminating half the parking lot with an eerie glow.

"I don't like this place." Sam made no effort to hide the fear in his voice, which got to Dean because it wasn't often that Sam put his fear out there like that, to be detected by his older brother.

"Got a bad feeling?" Dean was only half joking, he knew that Sam sometimes got weird…vibes, for lack of a better, less fortune teller-ish word; from certain things or places. Dean had been hearing about them, in a subtle manner, for years now. He never really questioned it, or dug into the complexities of it; he'd simply learned to trust his brother's instincts.

If Sam heard the somewhat mocking tone in his brother's voice, he ignored, answering honestly, "Yeah I do. I think we should get out of here."

Dean took one last look at the building, it might have been his imagination, but he swore he saw something move within the shadows of the walls.

"I agree." Dean said tensely, not wanting to alarm Sam, or mention that he thought he saw something. Running away scared was not something Dean did, but protecting his brother over powered his need to play hero.

Sam looked at Dean oddly for a second, but didn't mention it, just followed quickly when he turned back towards the car.

"DEAN!" Sam's frantic cry was enough to make his heart stop, but he didn't let that slow him down as he ran around the front of the car, to the passenger's side, at breakneck speed.

Sam was looking inside the car window, his eyes opened wide in absolute horror. Dean glanced from his brother to the door. He could see only Sam's reflection in the darkened glass.

He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but no sooner then he uttered the first syllable, was his question answered.

Something big, black and billowy passed from through the inside of the car, and materialized in front of his brother. From where he was standing, at a slight angle from the creature, Dean could not tell if it had any sort of face. A hood was hiding any features it might possess.

He was guessing that it did, only because Sam could not seem to pull his own eyes away from whatever lay beneath the hood. The creature stood at the same height as his brother.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, and when he didn't get a response, he rushed to his side.

He didn't dare glance in the thing's direction. Judging by the trance it had seemingly pulled Sam into, he knew it wouldn't be safe.

Instead, he focused on Sam, waving his hand wildly in front of his face. When that failed to get a response, he moved on to grabbing his shoulders and shaking wildly, unknowingly blocking his brother's view of the creature.

After only a second, Sam's dull and unfocused eyes came back to life, blinking rapidly.

"Dean?" he croaked.

The monster gave an angry hiss before Dean could reply. The next thing he knew, he felt as if a giant, invisible hand had come out of nowhere and flicked him carelessly to the side. He was air born for what felt like an eternity before landing on his back, several feet away. He could almost hear the audible 'whoosh' as the air left his body.

"Dean!" Only Sam's yell was choked. He sounded as if he was being strangled and the sound of it was so disturbing that Dean forced himself to lift his head from the ground much sooner than the laws of physics indented.

He caught a glimpse of the monster's long fingered hand, which seemed to be solid, despite the rest of his very un-solid like appearance, resting on Sam's chest. His baby brother's face was contorted in pain and he was rasping desperately for air. Dean's head collapsed back on the pavement, as he struggled to regain enough energy to move.

A few deep breaths later, Dean was off the ground and sprinting back towards the car. He didn't think about what he was doing, or form any type of plan whatsoever. He knew only that this thing was hurting Sam, and he didn't know what it was or how to fight it. But it was real and right in front of them.

So he did the most logical thing he could think of to get his brother out of immediate danger. He rushed at Sam and tackled him to the ground, away from the thing that was sucking the life out of him. Sam hit the concrete with an angry thud, but Dean didn't have time to think about it.

He jumped up from where he had landed with his brother and rushed to the driver's side door. He had the trunk popped within moments and was racing back in that direction. He saw Sam struggling to sit up and the monster – thing, which didn't seem to have feet, as it just glided along, the ends of it's robes barely grazing the ground, was moving towards him.

Dean's hand closed around the first gun he felt beneath his fingertips. He pulled it out and shot it at the center of the thing's chest.

He watched transfixed as it dematerialized for a few seconds. Long strands of thick black smoke making up the space it had just resided in. Dean watched it, not daring to pull his eyes away. Too soon, the strands reformed, as he feared they might, and the creature was back. The only good part was now it seemed to be completely focused on Dean.

That was somewhat of a relief. If it could be distracted by anger or pain like that, then it most likely wasn't very powerful. It's inhuman form was an indicator of this as well. Generally, the scarier something looked, the less threatening it was.

It was an odd rule of thumb, but one that Dean had picked up on fairly quickly. The things that hid under your bed weren't nearly as frightening as the things that tried to talk to you, to understand you. It's the ones that looked, felt or thought like humans that you had to watch out for. Those were the monsters that tricked you and overpowered you by way of emotion of human weakness.

Persistence usually did the trick with lower level things like this, he thought, and his logic was correct. After only half a round of bullets, the thing was fading, taking longer and longer to reform, and appearing less stable every time.

Two shots later and it was gone. Whether he had killed it or simply driven it away, Dean didn't know. He didn't care much either; his only concern now was getting back to his brother.

He dropped to his knees in front of where Sam lay, still struggling. Fighting to stay in an upright, sitting position.

"Take it easy." He commanded immediately, and placed a hand behind his brother's back to help him up, moving him back slightly so he was leaning against the side of the car.

Sam hissed in pain and Dean finally noticed that one of his arms was crossed over his chest and clutching at his injured shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked frantically.

"No," he rasped, coughing slightly. "Pain… pills…backpack."

Dean got his brother's message immediately and shot off the ground, practically tearing the backseat door off its hinges. He found Sam's perception drug bottle in the smaller outside pocket of the bag when he patted it down.

He was back at Sam's side, one of the pills and a bottle of water, also pulled out of the backseat, ready to go. He watched as Sam swallowed, cringing in pain. He waited a few moments, until the immediate pain seemed to recede some, and took a couple of long drinks out of the water bottle.

"Tastes like chlorine." Sam said. It took Dean a few seconds to process what Sam was talking about. When he did, he let out a shaky breathe he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"What do you expect? It's been sitting in the car all day." Dean studied his brother. Sam seemed to be breathing more evenly, his hand was back to resting on his shoulder, but he wasn't clutching at it any longer.

Dean mentally scolded himself; he shouldn't have tackled Sam like that. Although at the time, it had been the only way he could see to get him out of danger. Still, he felt guilty for hurting him further.

"What was that thing?" Sam questioned.

"No idea." Dean replied honestly. "Didn't seem that strong."

"Felt pretty strong when it was suffocating me." He muttered darkly and couldn't stop himself from rubbing his chest slightly.

"You'll be alright." Dean promised, his voice coming out sounding much stronger than he felt. "We just need to get out of here."

He finally made a move to stand up and watched as Sam did the same. His brother wobbled slightly and he'd probably be back on the ground if Dean hadn't reached out and steadied him, grabbing onto his un-injured arm tightly. "Whoa there." He mumbled.

"It's the pills." Sam answered Dean's questioning, concerned gaze. "They make me kinda… sleepy."

"Yeah," he grunted. "I can tell."

He maneuvered Sam, who was only half holding himself up, back to the car. Making sure he was securely inside and buckled up, before returning to the driver's side himself.

Sam was passed out by the time he restarted the car and peeled out of the parking lot as fast as humanly possible. He hadn't thought about it before now, but he really didn't want to find out if that creepy thing had any friends back inside the deserted motel. Getting far, far away seemed like the best idea at the moment.

Sam slept peacefully for the next hour. By the time Dean found another motel, far enough away from the hunted one they'd just left to make him feel safe, it was almost two in the morning.

He had no trouble getting a room from the nice old man on duty, seeing as how he had at the desk until Dean cleared his throat loudly. He asked no questions about what he was doing out at this time of night or why he requested two beds; he just shoved the key at Dean, all too ready to get back to his nap. Dean took the man's lack of interest as a blessing and went back to the car to retrieve Sam.

He all but carried him to the room and watched him practically collapse on the bed, rolling over and mumbling something incoherent before falling back into a deep, drug induced sleep. Dean removed Sam's shoes, before leaving him to his own devises and watching as he curled up with a pillow.

It was a trait he'd had had since he was a small child, for as long as Dean could remember. Sam had to have his arms wrapped around something in order to fall asleep. Whether it was a pillow, a wadded up blanket, or his own abdomen, it never seemed to matter, as long as he was holding something.

Dean sighed and collapsed onto his own bed, not bothering to remove anymore than his outer layers of clothing. Sometimes Dean couldn't help but be reminded of how young Sam still was.

Living a life dedicated to hunting and revenge, where you learn how to fire a gun at age six and can identify ghosts from poltergeists by age nine; it makes you grow up fast.

Dean had always thrived on the kind of life that hunting provided them, even when he had been younger. But Sam wasn't the same way. Dean often had a hard time understanding his brother; he knew Sam liked what they did, at least to a certain degree. He had seen the complete joy and satisfaction on his face after they'd saved someone.

Yet Sam was more of a people person than Dean or John ever had been. He could adapt to different personalities and tell people exactly what they wanted to hear. Their dad often used this characteristic to his advantage on hunts, when dealing with people was unavoidable, but Dean always suspected that that's why Sam had a tendency to get more attached to the innocents they protected. Why it hurt him more if they died.

No, Dean could never fully understand his brother's ability to keep his heart completely open like he did, to show emotions and care and be vulnerable in the worst, and best, possible way.

He also couldn't remember a lot about his mother, either, having spent only four years with her. But if he had to guess, and he'd been doing that a lot lately, he'd say that Sam was more like their mother than John could stand to see.

Dean knew that their dad blamed himself for Mary's death, much the same way Sam probably blamed himself for Alex's, and anyone else he'd ever failed to save. Dean didn't get that either. The tendency to place illogical blame on himself was not a family characteristic he had inherited.

Dean stole one last glance at Sam. He knew his brother would get through this. Even if he was the most vulnerable and emotional Winchester there was, he was still tough. He would get passed this and be stronger for it.

Dean was gaining something from this experience as well. The ability to stand up for himself and face his father. To see past everything he had always admired about the man that had raised him, and realize that while he loved his sons, that sometimes wasn't enough. He finally saw all the flaws the man possessed and how much damage they could cause. He finally realized that John Winchester, was human.

He sighed out loud and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Night Sammy." Dean whispered, before rolling over, and finally falling into a fitful sleep.

End Chapter.

A/N:

Alright, they're halfway to the funeral. This story is only going to last another couple chapters, most likely ending after the funeral. There will be lots of angst and brotherly love. I promise only one more confrontation with John, and it's going to be between him and Sam.

Also, this was my first ever attempt at a battle scene, usually I stick more to verbal confrontations and insights into thoughts and feelings, and I'd love some feedback on that.

So, Review Please!


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt

buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating: T or PG 13

Chapter Six: Just as soon as we were on the ground, We were back in the jet

Sam woke with a start, sitting up in the motel bed, immediately taking stock of his surroundings. Dean was snoring softly in the bed next to him, and that was all Sam really needed, to know he was safe.

No black, billowy monster was chasing him, he wasn't a passenger in the car that had killed his best friend, he wasn't stuck in a hospital room, completely paralyzed, listening to his father say over and over again; _"Maybe this is a good thing."_

Those were some of the random flashes he could recall from the nightmare, or nightmares, that he had just awoken from.

Sighing aloud he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had picked up from Dean, one he actually didn't do all that often. He glanced at the red florescent numbers of the clock sitting on the nightstand between their identical motel beds. It read 9:06.

He glanced over at Dean again; his brother was still fast asleep. This didn't surprise Sam in the least. After taking stock of the events of the last few days, he concluded that Dean hadn't slept in almost 24 hours. If you added that to the thing he'd been forced to save Sam from the night before, well, it was no wonder he was exhausted.

Sam winced at the memory of the creature from the night before. He hated having to be saved, from anything, especially when it was something that he shouldn't of needed saving from. That lower level monster was one of those things that he should have been able to fight off himself. Yet he had the sit there and watch Dean do it. His brother the protector.

Despite his annoyance at his own weakness, Sam really was grateful that his brother's mission in life seemed to be to make sure that Sam was always safe. If it wasn't, Sam probably would of died long ago.

His only actual lingering discomfort over the incident was the stiffness in his shoulder, where Dean had tackled him to the ground in order to break Sam's connection with the thing's oily black, hypnotizing eyes.

With that discomforting memory now swimming behind his eyes, Sam rose silently from the bed, untangling the sheets from around his legs in the process, and made his way to the tiny bathroom.

When he returned to the bed a few minutes later, he sat down on the edge of it, not entirely sure what to do. He didn't want to wake Dean, knowing how much the man needed to sleep. He didn't want to try to go back to sleep himself, afraid of the nightmares that would most likely be waiting for him, and simply because he was no longer tired.

His eyes scanned the room for something to occupy himself with, before they landed on the bedside table once again. There. Beside the clock and the lamp, closer to Dean's side, laid his cell phone.

Minutes later found Sam fully dressed, standing on the outside of the motel door, breathing heavily and punching numbers into Dean's phone with slightly shaking hands.

"Yeah?" John Winchester grunted after the fourth ring, Sam could tell he'd been either distracted or asleep.

"Hey dad." Sam said, trying to gauge his father's feelings.

"Sam," he sounded surprised, but not angry. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh..." he wasn't sure what to say, he was confused and hesitant, his father didn't sound angry.

"I know this is taking longer than it should," John continued without waiting for a coherent response from his youngest son. "But it turns out that this ghost isn't just a ghost. It's a manifestation of all the spirits, of all the people, that died in that explosion. They banded together, even after death, to fight and keep people away from their daycare. I've been working on a combination of banishing rites and exorcisms to get rid of it, them."

His voice was excited and eager and Sam wondered how he could just switch his feelings on and off like that. Surly he must still be a little upset? If not at the situation Sam had caused, then at least about his fight with Dean.

Sam wasn't sure what to say next, he hadn't expected this. Somehow, he had thought that his father would be aware that his son's were no longer in the state. He didn't know how he thought John would acquire that information, but Sam had assumed that he would.

"I'm going to Alex's funeral." Sam blurted. It's what he had called to say; he might as well say it.

John let out a heavy sigh and Sam could picture him running a hand over his face as he always did when he was upset or frustrated.

"I understand that you want to go Sam, but I don't think it's a good idea." He was trying to keep his voice level and Sam fought away anger. "We won't have time to drive all the way down to Texas by the time I get back from Cleveland, and we don't have enough money for a plane ticket. Even if we did, Sam, we have to go to Montana; I already lined up a new job for us there."

Well that was news to him, Sam thought, perhaps their father should have thought to share that with them yesterday. Although he wasn't sure what it would of changed, except perhaps to make Dean feel guiltier than he already did.

Sam let out a long breath. "We're already halfway to Texas. Dean and me. We left last night."

"What!" John's angry response was immediate. "What the hell were you thinking! Do you know how dangerous that is? Why would you do that, huh? Do you have a death wish? God Sam I didn't think you, or your brother, were that stupid! You know what's out there Sam. Do you really think it was a good idea to go traipsing across the country without telling me!"

Sam felt a lump of guilt form in his throat. For all of John's mistakes and horrible perceptions about the world, he really did love his kids. That rant, his anger, was his way of proving it to them, proving it to Sam.

"I just wanted to go to Alex's funereal, dad. I need to go." Sam was pleading.

"How! How are you guys even..." John's voice trailed off and Sam couldn't tell if he couldn't find the words or if he had simply run out of steam.

Either way, Sam took the opportunity to immediately answer the question. "Dean got a car. A real nice one, I think you'll like it."

John seized onto his eldest son's name. "Dean." he said tightly. "Let me talk to Dean."

"He's asleep." Sam said, knowing, that no matter what happened, he would not wake his brother up to feel the wrath of their father's anger. Even if it was over the phone. Sam very rarely got a chance to protect his big brother from anything, and something swelled inside him whenever he was given the opportunity.

"Then wake him up!" Was John's predictable, angry response.

"No." Sam said simply. "If you want to yell at someone, then yell at me."

"I don't want to yell at you for wanting to go to your friend's funeral, Sam.," he snapped. "I want to explain to your brother why leaving the state without telling me is wrong. And a bad fucking idea!"

"Dean's all grown up, dad!" Sam couldn't keep the anger and exasperation out of his voice. "He can take care of himself. Hell, he can take care of both of us. He has been for a while."

"I know that you boys are close," John tried to reason, but Sam cut him off before he could issue an order.

"This isn't about Dean." Sam snapped, realizing for the first time that it was true. Sure, this whole event would leave a lasting impression on his brother, possibly changing him forever. But it wasn't about that right now. Right now, it was just Sam and John Winchester facing off in a way they never had before.

"I'm going to Alex's funeral."

There was a long pause where neither John nor Sam anything. If they had been in the same room, they'd be starring at each other. As they so constantly did when they fought.

A part of Sam was distantly disappointed that they _weren't _within the confines of the same room. If they had been, it would have been the first time, ever, that Sam would have won a starring contest with his father. It was the first, and probably only, time he'd get to see his father back down.

The silent moment seemed to stretch on forever, until, quite suddenly, John spoke.

"When will you be back?" His father sounded completely resigned and uncharacteristically passive.

Sam almost dropped the phone in shock. There were many, _many _words, phrases and profanities, that Sam had expected to hear from his father. Many threats and orders, screams and shouts, demanding that they come home immediately.

Sam had been prepared for all that; he had been ready to defend himself, or his brother. To admit to hearing his father last night, if only to play the guilt card to get him to back off. He had even been willing to hang up on the man, knowing how angry he would be when they next faced each other. He had not been ready to hear his father give up. He'd never seen or heard him do so before.

Which lead to Sam's stupidly asked question of, "What?"

"When will you be back?" he asked again simply. "I need to know whether or not to wait for you back in Columbus or go ahead to Montana so I can make it to that job on time." And he was back to business as usual, completely ignoring the reality of the situation, acting as if this was just a mild change of plans.

Sam relaxed slightly. It had unnerved him, hearing his dad so defeated over something Sam did. This was better. The professional side of his father was on that he knew how to deal with.

"It's not for a couple days," he said, purposely not saying the word funeral, or Alex. If his father's mind set was to pretend that this wasn't really happening, to ignore it. Well, that Sam could play into just fine. "We probably wouldn't make it back to Ohio for over a week. Why don't you go ahead to Montana and Dean can drive there after."

Sam pictured his father nodding curtly and could have sworn he heard relief in his voice when he spoke again. "Fine. I'll swing by the house and pick up your stuff. I'm assuming you packed?"

Of course Sam could tell that was code for, 'I'm sure you were planning on coming back, right?'

"Yeah." he answered shortly.

"Good. I'll call back later and leave the address of the place we'll be staying in Montana, on Dean's voicemail."

"Right." Sam said, then softly, "Bye dad."

John's words were less than a whisper, so faint that Sam thought maybe he had imagined them.

"Bye Sammy."

Sam heard the click of the phone before the dial tone sounded, and he finally removed the device from his ear and pushed the off button.

That had been...unexpected. To say the least. Yet at the same time, it had felt right. Sam knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life being angry at his father. This was, in it's own odd way, a step in the right direction.

Sam and John would never have anything resembling a close or normal relationship. Which was what used to make Sam so angry at his father, what drove that wedge between them.

Slowly, but surely, Sam was feeling that change. The anger that he used to direct so fiercely at the man, it was receding bit by bit. Being replaced by sadness and longing, and, at an even slower rate, a sense of understanding.

John Winchester was a broken man, he would never be the normal dad that Sam wanted or needed. But that couldn't be changed. _He _couldn't be changed.

Sam could not control everything.

He let out a deep breath, which he had been unknowingly holding since he'd said goodbye to his father. With it, he felt almost as if he was dispelling a little more of his anger, and accepting a bit more understanding.

It was one of those weird, disconnected, almost meditative, experiences. Where you felt, if only for a second, that something had changed. An almost tangible shift, that left a content wholeness in it's wake.

Sam smiled at it, before shoving the phone in his pocket and striding across the parking lot of the motel. The convenience store across the street was his new destination. His goal was to stop the now present grumbling in his stomach.

0000000000000000000

"Where ya been?" Dean asked groggily as Sam made his way back into the motel room, plastic bag swinging happily at his side.

He had obviously just woken up, and Sam cringed inwardly, at the thought of the panic his brother might have faced if he had woken up and Sam hadn't been present.

"Got hungry." Sam answered simply and honestly. He sat down at the little, two-person table that was situated across form the two beds, and pulled a can out of the bag, tossing it to Dean.

His brother smirked lightly before popping open the tab and taking a big gulp. Letting out a satisfied sigh when he was through. "Nature's perfect beverage."

"I thought that was beer." Sam said lightly, opening his own pop and taking a swig, before grapping a bag of peanut M&M's and tossing them too at Dean. Picking out a bag of Doritos for himself.

"Beer." he agreed. "Then coffee, then Dr. Pepper." he held up the can he was drinking from, as if to assure him of its greatness. "In that order. And don't you forget it."

Sam laughed at his brother's antics. Dean was never one to be fully coherent in the morning. When they were kids, it had taken Dean, literally, hours to really wake up. He'd get out of bed okay, but he'd be as good as comatose until almost noon.

Then, around the age of thirteen, he had discovered coffee. His mornings now consisted of incoherent mutterings until he got his first cup, but he stared functioning much earlier on. The only down side now, not that his brother saw it as a downside of course, was that Dean was completely and totally addicted to caffeine. If he didn't get any by a certain time after waking up, he would develop a massive headache. A headache that nothing except caffeine could cure.

The store Sam had just stopped at had been out of regular coffee, and he knew Dean would be pissed if he tried to give him decaf. Plus Sam hadn't even known if his brother would be awake when he got back. And there was nothing worst than cold coffee. That was just a fact of life. So he hoped the caffeine from Dean's favorite pop would suffice.

As he was currently shoving the chocolate covered, peanut candies in his mouth happily, and burping occasionally from the carbonation of the drink, Sam assumed it had.

For a few minutes, the brothers ate in silence. Sam let the junk food satisfy his hunger and decided that he would get Dean to stop at a real restaurant later on that night. Junk food was cheap, and good at making you not hungry. Which was why his family lived on it a good portion of the time, but Sam was convinced that eating a full, healthy meal every once in a while had to be beneficial in some way.

Sam cleared his throat, deciding that now would be a good a time as any to tell his brother what he knew he'd eventually have to tell him.

Dean looked over at him curiously, and Sam said evenly, "I called dad."

His brother, who had just, unwisely, taken a sip of pop, began coughing violently. After a moment of patting himself on the chest and taking a few deep breaths, it receded and he was left clearing his throat.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked worriedly, feeling guilty.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he rasped.

"Sorry." Sam said sincerely, yet sheepishly.

"So," He said after a moment. "Dad?"

"Yeah." Sam said, trying to act casual.

"Was he mad?" Dean's face remained impassive but his voice held fear.

"At first." Sam admitted, leaning back in his chair slightly. "But then he got really... accepting." He shrugged. "It's gonna end up being one of those things we never talk about."

Dean nodded, accepting the answer, not hiding his relief. Sam filled him in on the plan to meet their father at their new home in Montana and his brother simply nodded.

Their dad was no longer an issue. They no longer had the added feeling of that weight on their shoulders.

"I think we should hang out here for the rest of the day." Dean said.

Sam blinked, somewhat surprised at the seemingly random subject. Then again, as Dean always said, it wasn't random; you just had to be in his head to understand it.

Dean misinterpreted Sam's silence and launched into explanation. "I mean. I'm still kinda beat, it'd be different if you could drive, but I'd really rather not fall asleep at the wheel. Besides, we do have time to spare."

"Yeah, okay." Sam said quietly.

With everything that had been going on with their father, he had let himself forget the real reason why all of this was happening. He let himself forget that his best friend was dead.

A random thought struck him. "I need a suit."

"Huh?" He could follow Sam's thought process no better than Sam could follow his.

"A suit." He repeated. "For the funereal."

"Right." Obviously, the thought hadn't occurred to his brother either.

"Or, you know," Sam went on. "At least something nice. I think all I packed was jeans and T-shirts."

"You aren't known for your fashion sense." Dean agreed, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam humored him, not wanting to dwell on the subject anymore than he did. "At least I don't have a leather fetish."

He half smirked at his little brother, "My leather fetish is what the girls dig."

"What kinda girl do you think you're gonna attract with that?" Sam too, was smirking.

Dean outright grinned, and his eyes lit up excitedly. "The fun kind."

Sam rolled his own eyes. Leave it to Dean to turn a conversation like the one they'd just been having, into one with allusions of a bondage fetish. His brother really was quite a guy.

000000000000000

Sam's nerves were making themselves known, that was for sure. They had been growing steadily throughout the day. Seeming to recede only when he was joking around with Dean.

Sam couldn't tell if his brother had picked up on that, or if he was simply trying to relive his own stress, but it seemed as if they had talked more in those few days than they had in weeks.

They had been scouring the small town of Citewood, Kentucky all day. They had found a small, comfortable and, most importantly, affordable, clothing store that specialized in formal wear.

Sam had purchased, or rather, Dean had purchased, with help from a fake credit card while Sam stood back and cringed inwardly, a pair of nice pants. Slacks, technically, he supposed, but he hated that word. As well as a nice collared shirt and tie. All of it black, of course.

Out of respect, and a desire to be there for his brother, Dean too had purchased a black shirt. Almost identical to Sam's, yet he point blank refused to wear a tie. Ever. Claimimg he had a pair of black jeans in the car that would complete his attire.

They had stopped and had a full meal, as Sam had set his mind on earlier. Chatting and joking idly the entire time. In fact, the only part of the day that had been tight with any kind of tension had been when they were buying, well, stealing, but Sam didn't want to think that, their new clothes. And they had been out of that place in a record fifteen minutes flat.

They had come back to the motel early, Dean falling asleep rather quickly, for Dean anyway. Sam stayed up almost all night, reading a book he'd picked up earlier that day, as an effort to distract himself and keep the nightmares at bay.

Sam had always been prone to nightmares. Especially when he'd been younger and had first started going on hunts with his father and Dean. Images he had seen, or images he had made up based on the sounds he had heard, the ones not even his brother could shield him from. They all attacked his subconscious as he slept, and for years he'd been afraid to do just that.

It had been easier when he was a kid though. When he was young and had a bad dream, he'd simply roll out of whatever bed he might of been sleeping in, and pad over to wherever Dean was sleeping. Which was, more often than not, only a few feet away

He'd crawl in and curl up next to his brother, the comforting feel Dean next to him was all he needed, to know that he was safe. Dean would never admit to waking up when Sam did this, but always, within seconds, he had his arm curled around his brother, rubbing his back soothingly.

A part of Sam wished he could do that again now. Just curl up next to Dean and let his bid brother assure him that noting bad was going to get him. That he was safe.

But he knew he couldn't. And not just because a sixteen year old sleeping in the same bed as his twenty year old brother was weird. He knew that if he tried to relive his old childhood memories again right now, that it wouldn't be the same.

Dean could no longer provide the comfort and assurance that he once had. Because Sam was no longer a scared little kid suffering from night terrors. Sam was growing up, and facing the tragedies that the world seemed dead set against throwing at him. Dean could no longer fix everything the way he used to be able to.

Sam had the comfort that his brother constantly provided during his childhood firmly engrained into his memory. Chiseled there for the rest of time, and if he tried to redo it, they would be tainted, ruined. Sam wasn't willing to do that.

So he sat alone on the lumpy mattress, reading some mind-numbing book to pass the time. Wishing desperately for the sun to rise, while at the same time dreading it's arrival. The break of dawn meant a new day was there, meaning he was one day closer to saying goodbye to his best friend forever.

He clung to the remaining days of the trip, because, in their own way, they were reassuring.

For the next two days, Dean and Sam drove across the country. Never for as long as they had that first night, stopping twice along the way to rest in almost identical, crappy motels. Although, all were lacking any type of monster, like the one they had fought at that first one, which both brother's counted as a silent blessing. Neither was very up for hunting as the days wore on.

The trip was comforting, because Sam knew what to expect. Drive, joke with Dean, drive some more, stop at motel, talk to Dean, eat, sleep, or stay awake reading or watching TV, the sun would rise, and they'd repeat the process. The Impala and Dean. That's all Sam needed to feel safe.

They say nothing good lasts forever. And they're right.

000000000000000000

"We're here." Dean could tell by the way his brother's eyes were glued out the car's window, not blinking, that his words were obviously not needed.

"Yeah." Sam answered anyway, and swallowed thickly.

They had reached Huston at the perfect time. If there was one thing Dean was good at, it was organizing driving time. Yet he felt little pride in this achievement.

In fact, he questioned briefly whether or not this was the right thing to do at all. Sam seemed to be having trouble catching his breath, and they weren't even out of the car yet.

They had pulled up in front of the church, after stopping at Alex's Aunt and Uncle's house to ask directions.

_"How are Aunt and Uncle distant relatives?" Dean asked, partly because he wanted to know, but mostly because he needed Sam to say something, to assure Dean that he was all right as they headed back to the Impala._

_Sam cleared his throat after a moment and said, "It's actually more like Barbara," The Aunt. "Was Alex's mom's brother's wife. Then they got divorced, and Ben's her new husband. Or the husband after the new husband. I don't really know. Hell, Alex didn't even really know. They never talked."_

For someone they never talked to, the Madison's sure knew how to give the guy a funereal. Seriously, if half this many people showed up at his own funeral, Dean would be absolutely amazed.

The Catholic Church parking lot was littered with about three million dollars worth of cars, literally. Their impala had to be the cheapest car there. And the one most well cared for, he assured himself, taking a small measure of pride in that, stopping to pat her hood lovingly before proceeding inside.

It was only after they passed a woman in about two pounds of diamonds that Dean remembered Sam telling him that Alex's parents had been rich. Ah, he decided, the reason behind Mrs. Madison's first marriage.

So far, it seemed that Sam had only recognized a few of the dozens of people there. Two guys, dressed much the same way as Sam, looking just about as awkward, had come up to his little brother as soon as they'd waked in.

Sam had introduced them, before Dean had hastily made an excuse and headed in the other direction. Sam would want a moment or two alone with Alex's former roommates. He'd been sticking to Dean more so than he had been, even at the hospital. Although that probably also sprung from Sam's natural shyness as well, his aversions towards large groups of unknown people.

Dean positioned himself near the priest and two distraught looking women, one he recognized as Barbara Madison. Crying and mourning like that was probably her way of getting attention, Dean thought disgustedly, shaking his head. He hated people like that. He'd walk over and tell her as much too, if he hadn't been busy keeping an eye on Sammy.

He was far enough away to not be able to hear what was being said, but defiantly close enough to see any signs of distress that Sam might display.

On the other side of the crowded church, Sam was feeling quite distressed, but he didn't let it show, anywhere other than his voice, which was now pleading softly,

"No way, you can't ask me to do this."

"Sam." Aaron, one of Alex's two roommates, currently standing in front of him, said desperately. "You knew him the best, its only right."

"You guys both lived with him for years," Sam reminded.

"Yet he was closer to you. Go figure." Chris snapped angrily. This guy had never liked him, and probably blamed him for Alex's death.

"Quiet." Aaron snapped at him. Sam had the fleeting thought that they regarded each other in a way quite reminiscent of that of a husband and wife. Maybe they were dating, Sam thought, and the ironic humor of it made him want to smile for a moment.

"You realize that we're the only people here that even knew Alex, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I picked up on that."

"No one else here can do it, and I only agreed because Chris hates public speaking, and well," he sighed. "We didn't know if you were coming."

Sam shot a quick glance at his brother. "Of course I'm here. I owe Alex that much, at least."

"Then you owe him this too." Chris bit out and Aaron shot him another look, to which Chris glared stonily.

Sam felt guilty. If he hadn't become a part of Alex's life in the first place, none of this would have happened, he'd still be alive. Sam took a deep, calming breath and shot another look at Dean, who was beginning to look worried.

"Alright." he spoke after a moment. "I'll do it."

Aaron reached over and squeezed his shoulder tightly, whispering, "Thank you."

Chris smiled slightly and Sam thought that it was probably the biggest show of affection he had ever gotten from the guy.

"I'll go tell the priest." Aaron said, and Chris followed him, thus ending any possible awkward moment before it had a chance to fester.

Sam was breathing deeply when Dean returned to his side. "Geez Sammy," he said immediately. "You look like crap. Are you alright?"

"It's like, ninety degrees in here, I'm gonna pass out, I swear to God." He snapped nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"You're in a church." he teased distractedly. "And it's more than that. Do you feel sick?"

"Yeah," Sam said and snorted to himself. "I just agreed to go up there and talk, speak, give a speach." He shook his head lightly.

"Up where?" Dean asked, sounding slightly confused, but focusing more on what his brother was saying, instead of trying to gauge whether or not he really was about to pass out.

"There." he motioned to the podium where the priest would undoubtedly be standing to talk about Alex within moments.

"Sam?" he asked. Suddenly realizing why his brother was pale, sweaty and shaking.

"I'm an idiot." he said. "I, what the hell was I thinking? I can't..."

But his voice was cut off by the one of the old man, clad in a white robe, priest attire, now standing at the dark, polished wood, podium, clearing his throat loudly.

The service was about to start. Groups of mourners settled into the rows of seats, tissues at the ready, some already discarded. Dean and Sam joined Aaron and Chris in the front row. Chris had his eyes so firmly fixed to the front of the church, where Alex's closed coffin lay, that Sam wasn't even sure he noticed them.

Aaron however, shot him a grateful look and nodded briefly, ensuring Sam that the priest had been informed of the last minute changes.

Dean wanted to say something to Sam, anything to get his kid brother to stop shaking violently in the seat next to him. But nothing could be said.

Alex's funeral had just begun.

End chapter.

A/N: I'm really sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I've been distracted – I actually started writing another fic, a Supernatural one that I hope to have posted pretty soon after Helicopters is finished. Of course I inherited my father's definition of 'soon' so it may not be for months. On a more relevent note, I already have chapter seven of Helicopters written, so the wait won't be nearly as long – for those of you still bothering to read. Lol (I hope). After that, there's going to be an epilogue, and that's it. In the mean time,

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	7. Chapter 7

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt

buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating: T or PG 13

Chapter Seven: I'm haunted by a story and I do my best to tell it

There was about twenty minutes worth of prayers, and Sam barely heard any of them. He could focus on nothing except the pounding of his heart. It's quickened rate slowly drawing blood away from his head.

When he was finally introduced by the old man, he thought fleetingly about bolting out the doors of the church and never looking back. But he knew he wouldn't do that, so he simply took a deep breath and tried to forget about all the people that would soon be starring at him, listening to him intently. His gulp was almost audible.

He felt his big brother squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, but Sam could not meet his eyes.

He walked up the stage on shaking legs, very sure that at any moment he was going to collapse. He gripped the side of the podium tightly with his good hand once he got there. Clenching and unclenching his fist nervously and wishing it didn't hurt to do so with the other hand.

"I...ah," Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, why in the hell had he agreed to do this?

Oh yeah, guilt.

"I met Alex in a graveyard, about six months ago. Which seems horribly ironic right now."

Okay, so that was a bad way to start, but at least he had a vague idea of where he was going now. Deep breath.

"This thing, this person, was attacking him."

"_HELP!"_

_Sam's head swerved in the direction of the frantic scream. A graveyard entrance stood a few feet away. Someone needed help. That's all that mattered to Sam. The fight he and his dad had just gotten into, the fact that he had stormed out like a brat, his anger about having to move once again, all of it was forgotten. _

_Someone needed his help._

"I fought it, the person, off. I saved his life that night. He was thankful, you know? Really grateful. He was kind of embarrassed too, that he couldn't defend himself from a mugger. He told me never to tell anyone about that night. So I hope he forgives me for this."

He saw a few people smile small watery smiles, and he caught Dean's eye and half smirked at him. Adding humor to a situation that has no right being humorous.

It was official, he was turning into his big brother.

"We went out that night, after I saved him, got a couple hot dogs. His treat. We talked a lot. It turned out that we had some things in common."

_"So what are you even doing out this late anyway?" Alex asked, taking a big bite out of his hotdog as they walked down a crowded main street._

_"Me, my dad and my brother just moved to town." Sam shrugged._

_"That seems like more of a reason to _not_ wonder around aimlessly in the middle of the night." Alex pointed out lightly._

_Sam shrugged, not used to divulging personal information about himself. He dodged the question. "I can take care of myself."_

_Alex laughed. "Yeah, I know."_

_Right. Good point. _

_"You've got to lighten up." Alex said. He sounded so carefree, Sam envied him. "You act like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."_

_"And you act like you don't care about anything." Sam hadn't meant for it to sound so accusing, but really, he didn't know how to deal with personal conversations. He'd never had anything even resembling one with anybody except Dean, and that was his brother. Those were few and far and far between anyway._

_"Sometimes, you can't control everything."_

"You can't control everything." Sam repeated the words. "It was the first insightful thing Alex ever said to me. He was an insightful guy. Something I never really have been. I have a job that's very, literal, I guess, for lack of a better word. I do things and things happen, and there's not a lot of room to wonder why or question it. Alex always had a lot of questions."

_"You never answered me." Alex prodded before Sam had even finished his hotdog._

_"About...?"_

_"Your out so late by yourself, because?" _

_Sam sighed. Hey, what the hell? "Me and my dad got into a fight. It's something we do a lot."_

_"About what?" he questioned, generally interested._

_"Just the way we live." He may have just saved the guy from a lower level, demonic, vampire servant, but he wasn't about to tell him that. "We travel around a lot. He's an ex-marine, he doesn't like to stay in one place for too long."_

_"What about your mom?" Alex asked the question very guardedly, he was already expecting a tragic answer._

_"She died when we were kids." Sam answered without thinking, then shrugged at Alex's sympathetic smile. "I don't even remember her."_

_"My parents died when I was five." he said simply, and Sam looked at him, surprised. He had not pictured this carefree young man on the victimizing end of such a tragedy. "In a plane crash. They were rich, had their own private jet. You think they could afford to hire a pilot who wasn't an alcoholic." _

"He also had this way of, _accepting _everything. He was completely at peace with everything that life dished out at him. An admirable quality, if you ask me."

Which they had, obviously, or he wouldn't be up here. He hated funerals. He hated churches. He hated ties, and states where the average temperature was over a hundred and no one knew how to turn on a goddamned air conditioner. And right at this moment, he really, really hated himself for agreeing to stand up and talk about Alex. His best friend, who had died all of four and a half days ago.

He let out a shaky breath and wondered if, under normal circumstances, people actually wrote these things out before they stood up and talked their dead loved ones. Sam didn't know if having a cheat sheet for this would be a good or bad thing at this point.

Eulogies.

That's what he was doing. He was eulogizing his best friend. He hadn't been able to put his finger on the correct terminology before just now.

It's amazing the stupid things your mind will come up with when you actually should be focusing on something much more important.

"I learned a lot from Alex." he pressed on. "I...well, I had some unresolved anger, over certain things in my life. Alex taught me how to deal with it, in a way no else ever had."

_"Can you change who your dad is?" he asked patiently, after one of Sam's bitch fests about his father._

_"What?" he asked confused. _

_"Can you change who he is? Or the way he thinks?"_

_"I don't want to change him." Sam protested. "I don't!" he defended, when Alex gave him a disbelieving look. "I just want him to... I don't know, understand me? That seems stupid now that I say it out loud." _

_He collapsed on the couch behind him, rubbing his eyes tiredly._

_"It's not stupid to want your dad to understand you." Alex assured him. "But it is kind of stupid to get mad and throw a tantrum every time he doesn't."_

_"Thanks." Sam exclaimed, but his voice held laughter. He understood what his friend was saying. What he'd been trying to explain for months now. _

_"It's also a little stupid to let it come between you and your brother." he continued. "As far as I can tell, you guys are really close. It seems like a pointless argument."_

_"You know, your making me feel self-conscious over here." Sam joked, but something in his expression had changed. And after a beat he said seriously, "Maybe your right."_

_"Man, I'm always right."_

_"Shut up, you pig-headed asshole." Sam laughed, and the serious conversation was thus abandoned. _

"Sometimes life sucks." Sam said with a shrug. For the first time since he started, he had confidence in what he was going to say next. "Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Sometimes good people die. Alex was a good person, he was a great person, and his life is over because he forgot to put on his seatbelt that night."

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he cold see no one. He pretended he was talking to his best friend.

"If we only focus on the bad stuff that happens... Well, then, what's the point? People live and people die. It isn't always fair, but that's the way it is. And if we," He gestured with his arm slightly, taking no notice of how sweaty his palms were. "The people that get left behind, if we don't do anything but obsess about the things, the people,we've lost...that's not really living anymore, is it?

I can't speak for everyone who's ever died. But I knew Alex. I know he'd want us to keep living our lives without him, and to be happy. He'd want me, he'd want us, to wake up every morning and just live. Don't fake it, hurt if you have to, but _live._"

Sam paused for a second. Something felt different, lighter. He felt at peace somehow.

Or he was about to pass out from heat stroke.

Either way, he couldn't stop the next words that came out of his mouth. His final words;

"That's what should be on his headstone. That's what anybody who thinks about Alex Brecken should remember. He was in love with life."

End Chapter.


	8. Epilogue

Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating:  T or PG 13

Epilogue: I'll be leaving soon

The funeral had ended.

Sam was standing on the expansive front lawn of the church. He took a deep breath and turned his head towards the sky. Chris and Aaron had just said their goodbyes, Chris even managed to do so civilly. They were headed back to Columbus. Back home. Sam was absently jealous that they had a steady place to call home.

The sky he was starring at looked especially clear and amazingly blue. He wondered if it was because of the Texas weather, or if someone up there was trying to tell him something. Either way, he basked in the peaceful feelings of relief it was bringing him.

He missed Alex. And he knew he always would. He had been the only best friend that Sam had ever allowed himself to have. He had taught him many things about life and living. He would be eternally grateful for that.

He hated having to say goodbye. But now that he had said it, now that he knew Alex was gone forever, it was almost like he was a part of him now. Alex was gone, but what he had taught Sam, what Sam had gotten from him; that would be with him forever.

He felt his big brother approaching before he saw him. He took one last whiff of the freshly mowed grass; the smell that he would forever link to Texas and saying goodbye.

Dean threw an arm around Sam's shoulders, taking care not jostle the injured one. It's weight offered more comfort than Sam would of expected it to.

"You did good, kid." Dean tried to say lightly, but the pride was unmasked. They had split up for a while after the funereal had ended and Sam was relieved to see him now. More relieved still, to hear the emotion in his voice.

"Ya think?" He asked, despite his others feelings, he still felt a little unsteady. He had never been a fan of public speaking, no matter what the circumstances.

Dean let out a deep breath of his own and Sam knew instantly that he was about to indulge in one of those increasingly common chick flick moments, that he claimed to hate so much.

"What you said up there, Sammy," he tightened his arm slightly. "It was...right. You made everything seem all right."

"Even though it isn't?" Sam guessed his next line, but Dean surprised him by shaking his head negatively.

"Everything's gonna be fine." Sam raised his eyebrows at the words. Dean turned to him and smiled genuinely. "You're gonna be fine. I wasn't sure before your speech. I've been worried about you, buddy. But I know you're gonna be okay now."

"So, blowing off dad, getting into a major fight with him, leaving the state without telling him, fighting that funky demon in the middle of an abandoned motel parking lot..." Sam listed everything that had happened in order for then to get where they were. "It was all worth it?"

Dean shook his head, but was grinning widely. "You bet, little brother."

"And the twenty seven hour drive to Montana, that'll be worth it to?" Sam was mostly teasing now.

Dean cringed, but Sam could tell it was with fake sincerity. "Twenty Seven hours?"

"I checked the map last night." Sam confirmed.

"Oh, well, you know what that means, right?" Dean asked, looking serious.

"What's that?"

"I'm gonna have to teach you how to drive." He said in the same tone.

"What?" Sam asked dubiously.

"You think I'm driving all the way to Montana my self?" Dean scoffed. "Sorry bro, but the free ride's over. It's time to pull your own weight."

Sam nodded. "You know, I think I can deal with that."

"Good." He ruffled his hair lightly and they started walking towards the parking lot at a leisurely pace.

Sam knew that the offer to learn how to drive was Dean's way of taking his mind off the events of late. Or maybe it was just his way of ensuring him that he had gotten the point behind Sam's speech. That life went on. Or maybe Dean really just didn't want to drive all the way to their new home without help.

Sam would never know for sure, but every possibility made him smile just as much as the last. The thought of learning how to drive in the Impala left him almost giddy, and certainly outweighed any fears he may have had about being in the driver's seat of a car after the accident.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean said after a few silent moments.

"Yeah?" He responded.

"You know I don't regret coming here, right?" His voice held honesty, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

Dean had been making his feelings about this trip well known since the beginning. Sam knew his brother, and if he didn't want to be here, he doubted very much that they would be. It was Dean who had initiated the whole trip to begin with.

Yet Sam couldn't help but feel comforted by the fact that his brother wanted to assure him. Dean didn't do 'express your inner feelings' thing very well, and Sam loved that he was taking the effort.

"Yeah, Dean." He said simply with a smile. "I know."

"And I really am sorry, about all the shit I said before...I didn't..."

"I know." Sam repeated. "You don't have to keep feeling guilty about that."

Dean grinned sheepishly. "If you say so."

"I do." Sam said. "Besides, driving me across the country kinda makes up for it."

"Well, I'm an awesome big brother like that." He said in mock self approval, but Sam knew that would be the last of his unnecessary apologies.

"That you are." Sam said sincerely. They parted once they reached the Impala, getting into their respective seats. Sam shot a look at his big brother over the roof of the car, before sliding into the passenger's side. "That you are."

Alex was dead, Sam couldn't help but repeat the fact to himself. It no longer felt unbearably heavy. It was no longer threatening to drown him.

Alex was dead. But Sam was alive. His brother was alive. His tiny family was still alive. Life was all around him. It was speeding through the Impala's open windows and he was taking it in; comforted by its presence.

His brother and the open road. That was all Sam needed to deal with grief. That was all he needed to deal with life.

Dean and the open road.

Six years later, a twenty two year old Sam Winchester sat in the same seat he had that day when he was sixteen. Dean was still beside him, flashes from his most recent dream displayed themselves clearly in his mind's eye.

"Nightmare about Jess?" Dean asked from the passenger's seat. Obviously noting Sam's now awake state.

Sam straightened himself and shot a glance at his big brother, smiling slightly.

"No."

"Vision?" He asked, with more apprehension.

"No." Sam shook his head again.

"Puppies and lollipops?" He tried sarcastically.

"No." His smile widened.

"Was it dirty? Cause your grinning awfully big over there, buddy boy."

"Nah," He said. "Just an old memory."

Dean nodded and looked for a second as if he was going to question it. Deciding against it, he reached forward and turned the stereo up, Metallica now blasting comfortingly in the background.

Sam shot a glance out his window. They were passing though Texas. It was the first time he had been here since Alex's funereal all those years ago.

Dean either didn't remember, or remembered, and didn't know how to breach the topic. Sam figured it was the latter, as he noticed his brother's driving speed increase slightly, until he was making his way through the state rapidly.

Sam couldn't help but feel content, he rested his head on the back of the head rest and smiled. Memories of his best friend whizzed through his mind. Memories from after the accident, of the things John had said and how Dean had defended him. Even though he'd gone back to following their father's orders once they had made it to Montana.

Sam had become rather indifferent to his father after Alex's death, but had grown closer to his brother, not letting John come between them anymore. Just like Alex had said, it was a stupid argument.

Even when he left for college, they had managed to exchange a few civil phone calls every once in a while. Never truly resenting each other, despite their disagreement over Stanford. He didn't want to think about what would have happened if they hadn't had at least that. He didn't want to think about how distant they might have become.

"You okay over there, Haley Joel?" Dean asked lightly, dramatics were still something he tended to avoid.

Sam scowled and rolled his eyes at the nickname. Okay, he was a psychic freak, must his brother remind him of it constantly?

"Yeah, James Hetfield, I'm fine." Sam used his brother's favorite code name and made a mental note to try and find a more embarrassing, irritating nickname. He should of asked Cassie if there were any pet names that Dean hated.

"You sure?" He asked seriously. And if Sam didn't know before, he was sure now that his brother had realized what state they were passing through and what it might bring up for Sam.

"Yup." Sam nodded, and he wasn't lying.

It had been a long time since he thought about Alex Brecken, or his eulogy at his funeral; but he found that the memories were not painful.

No, if anything they were the reminder Sam needed.

Hunting evil, loosing Jessica, trying to find their dad; these were things that Sam was at odds with. The things his nightmares were plagued with.

He recalled now, the comfort he had felt leaving Alex's funeral that day. Comfort that could come only from his big brother. From being on the open road with his big brother.

He would continue to fight evil forever, sacrificing his dreams of having a normal life, if it meant he could stay in this car with Dean. In the Impala where nothing could get to him.

"Good." Dean said and gestured towards the glove compartment. "Then why don't you take out the map and figure out how far away Newport is, geek boy."

"Hey, just cause I can read a map better than you, doesn't make me the geek." Sam grumbled, but complied anyway.

Dean and the Impala, he thought happily.

This was home.

End.

A/N: And Scene! Wow. I finished a multi-chapter fic. I've never done that before. I'm so proud of myself right now. Of course, you know what I have to do now? Start a new one. grins sheepishly Yeah, I already have one half written. I'm going to start posting that one, as soon a I post a couple of the One-Shots that have been taking up space in my hard drive. So be on the look out for those.

In the mean time, I'd really love to know what everyone thought of the ending. And it is the ending. No sequels, no prequels, I'm done with this one.

And for all those who might be interested (And because if I write it here I won't be able to back out of posting it) here's a sneak peak at my next fic.

Title: Blackbird

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

What do you think? Would you read it?

Okay, Reviews make me happy.

This is me, saying Ta for now.


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